A Friend In Need II: Shadow of the Jihad
by StonedCoyote
Summary: A Royalist arms manufacturer arrives in the Coalition with a grim tale. Trouble soon follows in his wake and its not long before Regent Sandringham and his government are having to deal with enemies both internal and external.
1. Prologue: The Black Isle Incident

**Foreword  
**

Welcome to the "sequel" to A Friend In Need. First I'd just like to point out its only a sequel in the loosest terms, i.e. it features the same factions, but the majority of the characters are different. The theme is the same however (allied states aiding each other in time of need). This was also a collaborative effort, with several of the early chapters being written by a certain J. M. Pendergrass - including the first one. J. A. Baker and the Outer Colonies show up again towards the end. If you thought the first story was a bit long at 30 chapters, this one's a monster! I've written 60 chapters so far, with another 2 or 3 to go. It may end up being more, if I split the main battle sequences up to make them more reader-friendly. Finally, if you think there is anything that could be improved, let me know. I'm always open to criticism, as long as its constructive.

* * *

**Location:** Undisclosed

**Subject:** Attack on PenderCorp facility, Black Isle, Royalist Alliance  
**Date of Incident:** 13th September, 3068

**Date of Inquiry:** 20th September, 3068

The collection of men and women filed into the boardroom and took their seats. They were legal representatives and military analysts from the Britannic Coalition, the Royalist Alliance and PenderCorp, with delegates from the Outer Colonies acting as impartial adjudicators.

The chairman called the meeting to order. "This investigative committee now returns to session. Yesterday we heard the report from one Philip Evans, a test pilot in the employ of PenderCorp. Today we have the recovered battlerom from one of the mechs involved in the incident, which I believe will back up Mr. Evans' report.

The chairman gestured to the board of inquiry clerk. "Mr. Ericsson, please play the recording".

_*click*_

_*static*_

**Sentry Three:** "All systems green…ready to move out. Any idea what's going on, sir?"

**Sentry Lead:** "Not a clue, Phil. Control reported a large number of unidentified contacts coming in from the south, headed for the factory. We're supposed to find out who they are and what they want".

**Sentry Two:** "Sounds like a crap job to me. If they're bandits, how are we supposed to fight 'em off? We're test pilots, not friggin' House mech jocks".

**Sentry Lead:** "Blow it out your exhaust port, Melissa. Boss signs the checks, so we do what he says - end of subject. Now move out. I'd have thought you play-warriors would be itching to see what these beauties can really do".

The chairman spoke again. "Mr. Ericsson, please fast forward. Let the record show that the next three minutes on this recording are unrelated to the incident and merely involve idle chatter while the PenderCorp mechs move out to meet the approaching force."

_*whirring*_

_*click*_

**Sentry Three:** "Contact! Sensors showing a large number of mechs, bearing Three Three Five, range nine hundred metres. Also reading a number of armour units and aircraft. Looks like they're headed straight for us".

**Hawkeye:** "This is Hawkeye. Confirm large formation of battlemechs, vehicles and choppers...not getting any IFF signals yet and its too dark for a visual ID…taking up position on your six to observe".

**Sentry Lead:** "Thanks, Tucker. Just keep an eye on 'em…don't get too close. Your whirlybirds won't be any use if things get ugly".

**Hawkeye:** "Rub it in, why don'tcha?"

**Sentry Lead:** "This is Senior Corporate Officer Joe Rogers of the PenderCorp Security Force. Identify yourselves and state your intentions".

_*prolonged burst of static*_

**Sentry Two:** "Hey Joe, my displays just turned to static! Somebody's laying down some heavy ECM. I dunno if those guys will be able to hear us…unless they're the ones doing the jamming. Either way, I can't get a read on their units any more".

**Sentry Lead:** "Repeat, this is SCO Rogers of the PenderCorp Security Force. You are trespassing on land leased to the Pender…"

_*explosion in background_ and _weapons fire*_

**Sentry Four:** "What the…did someone just open fire?"

**Sentry Three:** "I dunno…I thought I saw a flash just now".

**Sentry Lead:** "I didn't order anyone to fire…all units, hold your fire!"

**Sentry Two:** "It wasn't any of us…it was them!"

**Sentry Lead:** "But we don't even know who they are yet…why the hell would they fire at us?"

_*CRACK*_

**Sentry Two:** "Christ - that was close!"

**Sentry Lead:** "All units hold your fire…I repeat, hold your fire!"

_*Over a minute of sounds of sporadic weapons fire with no dialogue*_

**Unidentified:** "Surrender and we will allow you to leave with your lives. The factory is ours whether you fight or not".

**Sentry Lead:** "This is Senior Corporate Officer Rogers of PenderCorp. Identify yourselves!"

**Unidentified:** "Resistance will not be tolerated. This is your final warning".

**Sentry Lead:** "I repeat, who is this? Identify yourself!"

**Unidentified:** "You are interfering in a Royalist Alliance military operation. Stand down immediately or you will be destroyed".

**Sentry Lead:** "Wait a second. The Alliance government has entrusted the care of the Black Isle facility to us. Why the hell would they be sending one of their units to take it from us? For all we know you could be pirates!"

**Unidentified:** "Go ahead and call in if you like. We have our orders".

_*weapons fire in background*_

**Sentry Lead:** "Don't worry, I'm going to!"

**Sentry Two:** "Joe, I've got a visual ID! It's the 4th Lancers…I recognise the colours and insignia! Their base is just thirty minutes south of here!"

**Sentry Three:** "No way! You've gotta be seeing things. Why would they just show up and start shooting at us?"

**Sentry Lead:** "We deployed to intercept them, remember? And we shot first! It's just a big mistake!"

**Sentry Two:** "Bull! They shot first!"

**Sentry Lead:** "Shut up Melissa! I'm gonna try and get through to Control and see if they can sort this out! Damn, its no good – I can't get though. Long range coms are jammed too!"

**Unidentified2:** "This is the RAAF liaison for Black Isle. What in the blue blazes is going on over there?"

_*explosion, cockpit warning alarms and drowned out dialogue*_

**Sentry Lead:** "This is SCO Joe Rogers of the PenderCorp Security Force. We are under attack from the 4th Lancers. For Pete's sake, call your troops off! People are about to die out here!"

**Unidentified2:** "What are you talking about? You're interfering with a sanctioned Alliance military operation! Stand down immediately and return to your base! Who authorised your deployment?"

_*weapons fire*_

**Sentry Two:** "Do you think these people could be for real, Joe!"

**Unidentified3:** "This is the commanding officer of the 4th Lancers. What do you idiots think you're doing? While you're playing at being heroes, you're endangering the lives of Alliance military personnel!"

**Sentry Three:** "Oh, Jesus, this is seriously messed up!"

**Unidentified3:** "I repeat, you are ordered to stand down at once!"

**Sentry Two:** "What the hell's going on, Joe?"

**Sentry Lead:** "I don't know! Jesus…I just don't know!"

_*weapons fire*_

_*static*  
_  
**Unidentified3:** "If you do not stand down immediately, you WILL be considered enemies of the Royalist Alliance and fired upon!"

**Sentry Lead:** "We're already being fired on!"

**Unidentified3:** "I don't believe I'm making myself clear. Continue your aggressive actions and I will have no option but to order the complete destruction of your unit!"

**Sentry Lead:** "How do we know you are who you say you are? How do we know you speak for the Alliance…and on whose authority?"

**Unidentified2:** "This incident will reflect VERY poorly on your employer".

_*cockpit warning alarms and drowned out dialogue*_

**Sentry Lead:** "For all we know you could be impostors!"

**Unidentified3:** "What? What are you blathering about, you incompetent trigger-happy idiot?"

_*weapons fire*_

**Sentry Two:** "Joe! I got one! Scratch one Phoenix Hawk!"

**Sentry Three: **"Hey! My screens have cleared up…I'm getting sensor readings again! I think the jamming's stopped…oh, Jesus…"

**Sentry Two:** "Oh my god! ID confirmed. Transponder codes match the 4th Lancers…I just took down one of their mechs!"

**RAAF Liaison:** "Major, if this continues you are within your rights to defend yourselves by any means necessary. I'm putting a call in to PenderCorp to see if someone can talk some sense into these lunatics".

**Lancer Command:** "Understood, Captain".

**Sentry Lead:** "Don't call ME a trigger happy idiot, you impostor! The Royalist Alliance has…"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "That's enough, Rogers! I'll take it from here. This is Chief Executive Joseph Pendergrass. What is your business here?"

_*explosion and wordless screaming, followed by static*_

**RAAF Liaison:** "Your people are interfering in a sanctioned military operation and worse, have fired on a Royalist Alliance military force. This will not be tolerated!"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "What is the purpose of this operation?"

**Lancer Command:** "If you don't call them off immediately, we WILL destroy them and send you the salvage bill!"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "What is the purpose of this operation? I was never told of an operation by the RAAF!"

**RAAF Liaison:** "The Fourth Lancers are under orders to place a guard force around your facility. We have a number of unidentified dropships approaching your location and anticipate a pirate raid".

_*indecipherable screaming*_

**Lancer Command:** "…and a force from your facility intercepted us and opened fire! Order them to stand down immediately, or suffer the consequences!"

_*weapons fire in background*_

**Pendercorp CEO:** "Once again, I was never told of this operation".

**Sentry Three:** "Sir, lead enemy units are closing fast!"

**Sentry Two:** "Joe, what are we supposed to do?"

**Sentry Three:** "We have to push forward or they'll flank us!"

**Sentry Lead: **"No! Pull back…it's all a huge screw up!"

**Lancer Command:** "Of course you weren't told. It's a classified operation! In any case, it doesn't give your trigger-happy yahoos an excuse to fire on us without provocation!"

_*weapons fire*_

_*indecipherable screaming, possibly obscene* _

**Pendercorp CEO:** "All PSF pilots; clear the comms and let me deal with this!"

**Lancer Command:** "Be advised, your line of retreat is being blocked. Do you really think we're stupid enough to allow you to pull back and regroup? You are hereby ordered to stand down or you will be considered a threat to the operation and destroyed".

"Mr. Ericsson; pause the playback for a moment, please. Let the record show that, at this point, the PenderCorp force had its retreat cut off by missile-deployed minefields from one or more of the units approaching the facility. Please continue".

**Pendercorp CEO:** "How can this be a classified operation? If the RAAF were to send a force to protect the facility, I would have to be notified in advance!"

**RAAF Liaison:** "Your employees are already in violation of a number of the Alliance's military and civil laws, Mister Pendergrass, for which they will be brought to trial. Are you sure you want further charges brought against you?"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "I don't know what's going on any more than you do…and don't threaten me with legal action unless you've got the evidence to back it up!"

**Sentry Four:** "Oh, Christ! They've got battle armor! Get it off me…get it off me!"  
_  
_**RAAF Liaison:** "If you continue this course of action, we are would be within our rights to seize your facility and any other assets you may have to pay for the damage caused by your security forces".

**Pendercorp CEO:** "I wasn't told about this operation! My people are just following procedure".

**Lancer Command:** "I don't care about your company's procedures. I've got my orders and I intend to follow through on them. Anything beyond that is Command's business".

**Pendercorp CEO:** "How do I know you really are an RAAF unit and not a band of marauding pirates?"

**Lancer Command:** "If your people haven't been able to visually ID us by now, I would seriously question the calibre of your employees! Do you seriously think a pirate unit would take the trouble to paint their mechs in our colours and use our unit insignias? You've even got a fricking liaison officer on the line for Pete's sake!"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "So you say…he could be anyone! I can't even contact the local command centre to verify his ID!"

_*indecipherable shouting in background and weapons fire*_

**Lancer Alpha Six:** "Sir, they're still firing at us. Shall we continue to move on the factory?"

**RAAF Liaison:** "I've had enough of this. You have your orders, Major Hoffmann. In the meantime I'm going to contact Command to find out how the hell this got so screwed up!"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "This is Chief Executive Pendergrass. All PenderCorp units are to stand down until further orders".

**Lancer Command:** "All units continue original mission to secure the facility".

**Sentry Two:** "OPEN FIRE!"

**Sentry Lead:** "Hey, I'm the senior officer! I give the orders around here!"

**Sentry Two:** "Then what do we do, Joe?"

**Sentry Lead:** "All units fall back!"

_*weapons fire*_

**Sentry Lead:** "Cease fire! Melissa, I said to fall…"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "THIS IS THE CEO...ALL PSF UNITS ARE TO CEASE FIRE IMMEDIATELY!"

**Lancer Command:** "About time somebody showed some sense…stupid backwater mech jocks. All units hold fire".

**RAAF Liaison:** "This is Dufrain. I can't get through to Command. Pendergrass, those dropships inbound on your position are what you should be worrying about right now – not us. Our men WILL follow orders whether or not yours interfere".

**Lancer Command:** "Have they landed yet, Captain?"

**RAAF Liaison:** "Checking…negative, sir…ETA fifteen minutes".

**Lancer Command:** "Copy that. All Lancer units are to stand down!"

**Lancer Alpha Six:** "Alpha Company standing down, sir".

**Sentry Two:** "Standing down? They shot at us first!"

**Sentry Lead:** "For the last time, Melissa, SHUT UP!"  
_  
_**RAAF Liaison:** "Members of the Pendercorp Security Force, you are hereby ordered to abandon your mechs and vehicles and evacuate the area in your VTOLs. You may send salvage crews to recover your equipment at your convenience. I'm sure there will be some VERY interesting discussions when this is over, Mister Pendergrass".

**Pendercorp CEO:** "Negative, my units will withdraw and return to the facility on their own. I have already ordered them not to fire on your forces".

**RAAF Liaison:** "Mister Pendergrass, your people have already done more than enough damage for one day. Don't make things worse for them and yourself by attempting to countermand my orders. I would advise you to start complying before you put your entire company at risk".

**Pendercorp CEO:** "Look! I still have no way of verifying whether you are who you claim to be. Furthermore, I refuse to abandon nearly 200 million C-bills' worth of equipment, especially if we are facing an imminent pirate raid!"

**Lancer Command:** "You are in no position to argue, Mister Pendergrass. Send your crews to pick them up as soon as you wish, but I'm not letting those trigger-happy morons walk off with military property!"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "I'm sorry, but I will not do that. I'm ordering my pilots to bring their mechs back to the facility".

**Lancer Command:** "You are under a direct ORDER! Do you realise I could have your facility levelled with a single command?"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "Show some FAITH and I just might comply! I can still hear weapons fire, for god's sake…and I'm damned sure it's not my people firing! As for destroying this facility, if you really wanted to, you'd have done it by now…you want what's in here".

**Lancer Command: **"We had FAITH that we wouldn't be fired upon for merely approaching your facility. And the mines my units are deploying are defensive measures, in case your cowboys decide to disobey orders again".

**Pendercorp CEO:** "Let's at least try to be reasonable here. I'm sure we can come to an agreement. My SCO is a good officer and he will obey any orders I give him".

**Lancer Command:** "Then tell him that all your personnel are to leave their mechs and evacuate in the VTOLs or we WILL consider their continued presence to be a hostile act and resume action against them".

**Pendercorp CEO:** "Stop huffing. We both know our forces could inflict a great deal of damage on each other. Yours would undoubtedly win in the end, but I'm sure you could do without the repair bill and casualties. How about this: your forces will escort mine back to our facility and your troops can verify our stand down. I think I'm showing plenty of faith by ordering my units to hold fire".

**Sentry Four:** "Sir, one of our VTOLs has opened fire!"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "What the hell…? I explicitly ordered everyone to cease fire!"

**Hawkeye:** "I'M HIT! THEY'VE GOT INFERNOES! I CAN'T KEEP HER UP! I CAN'T SEE WHERE I'M…"

_*indecipherable screaming and explosions*_

"Mr. Ericsson, please pause the recording.

_*click*_

The investigative committee will note that this is the time in the report when one of the PenderCorp VTOL was shot down by machine gun fire, presumably from another aircraft. Please continue".

_*click*_

**Pendercorp CEO:** "What just happened? Somebody answer me!"

**RAAF Liaison:** "Somebody call that idiot off!"

**Sentry Three:** "What the hell's going on, Joe?"

**Sentry Two:** "THEY'RE FIRING ON US AGAIN!"

**Sentry Lead:** "Wait..."

**Pendercorp CEO:** "What's going on there?"

**Sentry Two:** "RETURN FIRE!"

_*weapons fire*_

**Sentry Lead:** "Stand down! Stand down!"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "This is the CEO..."

**Sentry Two:** "DON'T LISTEN TO HIM…DEFEND YOURSELVES!"

**Sentry Lead:** "MELISSA! You idiot…"

_*weapons fire and explosions*_

**Sentry Lead:** "Cease fire, I repeat, cease fire!"

**Pendercorp CEO:** "THIS IS THE CHAIRMAN! ALL PENDERCORP UNITS WILL CEASE FIRE IMMEDIATELY!"

**Sentry Two:** "Woohoo…I just bagged a Centurion!"

_*distant explosions*_

_*static*_

**RAAF Liaison:** "Major, this is Dufrain. You are to assume that these idiots are in league with the pirates and act accordingly".

**Lancer Command:** "Understood".

**Lancer Alpha Six:** "Our orders, sir?"

**Lancer Command:** "We take down these corporate clowns…once and for all".

_*distant weapons fire and explosions*_

**Sentry Two:** "Joe, we're taking fire from all directions! What do we…"

_*high-pitched squealing sound, nearly inaudible scream and explosion in background*  
_  
_*static*_

_*click*_

The chairman stood to address the rest of the enquiry board, shuffling his notes. "At this point, the Pendermech recording this was destroyed by heavy enemy fire and the battlerom recorder stopped operation. The pilot ejected and was recovered eight hours later by an Alliance police cruiser approximately six kilometers from the scene of the incident".

He paused to take a sip of water. "At this time, all records of subsequent events are based purely on what we can infer from the evidence we have seen thus far. The PenderCorp test pilots inflicted heavy casualties on their attackers before being forced back into the minefields and apparently carpet bombed by previously undetected aerospace elements. No other survivors or battlerom recorders were recovered. None of the attacking force remained after the battle, though pieces of wreckage that were salvaged, do appear to confirm that they were using the paint scheme currently in use by the 4th Royalist Lancer Regiment, stationed on Black Isle. The attackers also approached from the direction of the Lancers' base. After the PenderCorp Defence Force was destroyed, the attacking force apparently moved northward and occupied the factory itself".

He paused again to check his notes. "The incoming dropships identified by the spaceport authority, landed approximately halfway between the Lancer base and the PenderCorp factory. The size, composition and allegiance of the forces on board those dropships remain unknown. However, some wreckage bearing the colors and insignia of a Britannic Coalition unit, supposedly deployed in an operation against a pirate band on Pain and The Rack, were recovered at both the factory and the base. The Lancers' base was completely overrun and destroyed".

The chairman put down his notes and gazed around the room at the other members of the enquiry panel. "The PenderCorp factory was evacuated just prior to the attack, so there are no eyewitness accounts of anything that went on there. Surveillance records are inconclusive at best and although we will be reviewing the video footage later on, I doubt anything of use will be found. The factory itself is relatively intact, despite damage sustained from mech-scale weapons fire and a fuel tank explosion inside one of the hangar facilities".

There was another pause as he took his spectacles off and cleaned them. "Most interesting of all, perhaps, is that the factory's contents were not left intact. Approximately half the machinery is either destroyed or missing. The entire contents of the main office are missing, including the blueprints of every battlemech design PenderCorp were producing, as well as several new designs that have not yet been approved. All of the prototypes and test beds stored at the factory are also missing, along with a large stockpile of weapons and the entire supply of munitions stored at the factory. This raid had a purpose, gentlemen, although since we have no surviving witnesses from either the Lancers' Third Battalion and no prisoners from the unidentified dropship force, all we can do is speculate and infer, based on the few facts we do know".

"For now, let's adjourn for luncheon. We'll address the video evidence afterwards".


	2. Refugees

**BCS** _Athena**,  
**_**Wellington System,****  
Britannic Coalition,  
The Periphery,  
September 23rd, 3068**

"Sir – I'm picking up an energy spike at pirate point Bravo Four!" called the navigation officer from her post.

"Keep an eye on it", replied Demi-Precentor Terrell Forbes. "XO, go to Condition Amber".

Adept Jane Asher raised a quizzical eyebrow, "Sir?"

"Just call it a training exercise…Blake knows we've had little enough excitement out here".

Asher gave a small smile and nodded, before calling out orders to the bridge crew. "Condition bars" mounted at roughly eye-level around the walls, switched from a steady green glow to amber. Warning klaxons sounded throughout the ship and Forbes pictured in his mind's eye, the crew dropping whatever they were doing and running to battle stations. Although weapons would not be activated at this alert level, it was still a good opportunity to make sure everybody knew their roles in a potential combat situation.

"Sir, we have a vessel inbound. EM signature indicates a small civilian jumpship", called the navigation officer.

Forbes' brow wrinkled in puzzlement. "Do we have any scheduled arrivals for this time?" he asked Asher.

He waited while his XO punched a query into the computer terminal at her command post.

"Negative, sir", came the reply.

"Hmm. Helm, come to course Three Zero Niner, all ahead one quarter".

"Course Three Zero Niner, all-ahead one quarter, aye sir", came the helmsman's answering call.

Turning to Asher he said, "Civilian or not, our orders from Command were explicit…no-one gets in without being checked".

Asher nodded agreement.

"Here they come!" called the navigation officer.

Checking sensor readings relayed to their command stations, both the captain and XO could see the IR bloom expand and fade as the jumpship tore a hole in space and entered the Wellington system. The _Athena's_ sensor suite immediately highlighted the vessel's position, although at over fifty thousand kilometres distant, it was far too small to see with the naked eye. A few moments later, the ship's powerful hull cameras displayed a magnified view on the main screen.

The image resolution was good enough to immediately tell them something was very wrong. There were muted gasps and curses from several of the bridge crew, Forbes and Asher among them. Firstly, because they recognised the jumpship as a Coalition design, secondly because of the obvious battle damage that scarred its hull.

"Alright, go to Condition Red and launch flight II Alpha…just in case anyone tries following them in".

"Aye, sir!" This time there was no query from Asher.

The steady amber lights changed to a blinking red and a different, higher pitched klaxon told everyone they were now in a potential combat situation.

Minutes later, a flight of six _Stingray_ aerospace fighters left their launch bays and rocketed at full throttle towards the stricken jumpship.

"Comms, try hailing them. I want to know if they have any problems that require urgent attention".

"Aye, sir!"

The communications officer went to work, broadcasting on all commonly used civilian frequencies. "Unidentified jumpship, this is the Britannic Coalition warship Athena, if you are able to respond, please do so".

There was a pause while she waited for a response. When none came, she tried again. "Unidentified jumpship, this is the Coalition warship Athena. We see that you've sustained damage. If you require assistance, please respond".

When there was still no response, she looked at Forbes, shaking her head.

"Keep trying – the signal might be getting distorted by solar radiation".

* * *

**Stingray F-92,  
Intercept course to unidentified Jumpship,  
Wellington System**

"Unidentified jumpship, this is Adept Ben Carmichael of the Coalition warship Athena, do you require assistance?"

Carmichael pulled back slowly on his stick, sending the 60-ton fighter into a lazy loop around the slowly drifting jumpship.

Getting no response, he tried again. "Unidentified jumpship, this is Adept Carmichael of the Coalition warship Athena. If you can hear me, please respond".

There were a few seconds of silence before the headphones built into his flight helmet crackled into life.

"…L…dr…sy…is…Pen…orp...ump…shhhhh…rel…"

The signal died for several seconds before coming back, still laced with static, but much clearer.

"…I repeat, this is the Pendercorp jumpship Minstrel. We have just fled Black Isle in the Royalist Alliance. Our facility was attacked and destroyed by unknown forces. Our dropships were fired on as we lifted off and a warship of unknown origin fired on us as we prepared to jump out. Our lithium fusion batteries were damaged and the jump overloaded our KF drive. We have a radiation leak, though we've sealed the affected compartments off. Several of our crew have been killed and many are wounded. We're losing life support and station-keeping ability…we need help immediately!"

The desperation in those last words briefly tore through his normally cool, professional demeanour.

"Blake's Blood!" he muttered, before tapping the transmit button. "Copy that Minstrel, forwarding sit-rep to the Athena. Please stand by".

"For god's sake, hurry…I don't know how much longer we can hold position. Once we lose our station keeping thrusters, we're headed straight into the sun!"

Carmichael forced down the lump in his throat and took a deep breath to calm himself. "Acknowledged Minstrel, we're doing everything we can".

* * *

**BCS** _Athena**,  
**_**Wellington System,****  
Britannic Coalition,**

"Oh, shit!" muttered Forbes as he listened to the pilot's report. The rest of the bridge crew who were close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation listened in mute shock.

"Okay", said Forbes when the link had been cut, "Scramble the St Pancras with a medical team. Make sure they've got NBC suits and decontamination gear with them. Tell Adept Findlay I'll brief her once they're en route…we haven't got time to do things by the book this time".

He straightened up and clapped his hands to jolt the stunned bridge back into action. "Come on people – look alive, we've got a jumpship to save!"

Down in sickbay, alerted by a terse comms message from the bridge, a flustered Adept Emma Findlay directed her team of medics to load the dropship with everything they would need…and probably quite a lot of stuff they wouldn't. With an emergency of this nature it was hard to be sure.

It was obvious the _St Pancras'_ pilot was in one big hurry. No sooner had they dogged the hatch down and confirmed they were ready to go, than the hull resounded with clangs and thumps as the docking collar and clamps, which held the dropship in place, uncoupled, allowing the vessel to drift free.

She didn't drift for long though. The pilot brought her engines up to full power almost immediately and within minutes they were speeding towards the _Minstrel_ under 4Gs of thrust.

Forbes was true to his word and almost as soon as they were underway, Findlay was summoned to the _St Pancras'_ bridge. She took a spare seat at the comms station and donned a headset. As the briefing went on, her expression went from surprised, to incredulous, to outright shock.

The co-pilot, noticing her expression, asked, "What is it, Doc?"

By the time she'd finished explaining, the bridge crew were wearing identical expressions. The briefing was relayed throughout the ship, so that everyone aboard would know the gravity of the situation.

Back aboard the Athena, Adept Asher was giving voice to some questions that had surfaced as she contemplated the rescue mission.

"Do we know if the St Pancras has enough space to evacuate everyone?" she asked Forbes quietly.

"I've no idea. They didn't say how many they had aboard before the coms went off-line again".

"Shouldn't we send the Tottenham as backup, just in case?"

"Good idea – make it happen".

Asher nodded and quietly issued orders for the _Athena's_ second dropship to be launched. Less than quarter of an hour later, following an extremely abbreviated pre-flight check, the spheroid Union class vessel burned silently into the dark, star-spangled void, its drive flares glowing brightly.

Just then another idea struck Forbes. He hurried back to his command chair and sat down, punching a string of commands into the communications console in front of him, opening a link to the naval headquarters on Wellington.

"Command, this is the Athena, I need you to contact the Cygnus naval yard immediately".

"Sir?" came the puzzled reply.

"We have an emergency situation here!" Forbes snapped impatiently. "A civilian jumpship just entered the system. She's been attacked and has a damaged KF drive. Her life support and manoeuvring thrusters are also hit. I need you to call the naval yard and get them to send their yard ship out here ASAP. We don't have any towing equipment and if we don't get a hold of that ship in the next few hours, it'll fall straight into the sun's gravity field".

There were a few moments of silence on the other end of the connection as the comms officer digested that bit of news.

"Of course, sir…right away", came the chastened reply.

"And while you're at it, tell Demi-Precentor Hutchinson we're attempting to evacuate the jumpship personnel. We've sent both dropships, with medical teams. They've got NBC suits and decontamination gear, just in case".

"Aye sir, I'll forward your message".

Unable to do any more, except monitor the situation, Terrell Forbes and his crew simply sat and watched the unfolding drama.

* * *

**Yard Ship **_Stornoway**,  
**Arcturus_** Orbital Dockyard,****  
Newcastle System,  
Britannic Coalition**

Captain Hereford Lasker, skipper of the Faslane class yard ship _Stornoway_, heaved a sigh of relief as his ship's berth came into view. He and his crew had just finished the mother of all shifts, marshalling vessels in and out of Cygnus Astra's vast naval yard. He was just about to give the order to the helmsman to make the necessary course adjustments to put them on final approach, when the bulkhead-mounted speakers came to life.

"Control to Stornoway, Priority One message from Wellington Naval Command", said the stations' comms officer in a terse, unemotional tone.

Lasker sighed, closed his eyes and waited for the rest of the message.

"The warship Athena reports a jumpship in distress near the system's zenith jump point. They're requesting immediate assistance to salvage the vessel while they try and evac the crew".

Lasker groaned. "Couldn't you at least have waited until the relief crew took over?"

The comms officer remained annoyingly unsympathetic. "The relief crew won't be here for another half hour and even when they do, they'll have to go through a full systems check to make sure you haven't broken anything".

The skipper gave a snort of annoyance but said nothing.

"Anyway, our naval brethren have requested immediate assistance and in emergencies, we are obliged to render it, so I'd suggest you get plotting a course for the nadir jump point right away. I'll inform Wellington you're on your way".

The _Stornoway's_ captain waited until the link was cut before unleashing a quiet stream of curses at the console in front of him.

The navigator clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Look on the bright side, sir…we'll be getting plenty of overtime out of this…"


	3. Mercy Mission

**_Dropship_ St Pancras,**

**_On Approach Jumpship_ Minstrel,**

_**Wellington System, Britannic Coalition,**_

**_The Periphery_  
**

.

"Jumpship Minstrel, this is the dropship St Pancras…whats your status?" asked Adept Rishnavantha "Rishi" Murthi over a general hailing frequency.

There was a prolonged pause, during which shifting patterns in the sea of static suggested someone was trying to respond.

"St Pancras, this is the Minstrel. We've lost main power and are running off our reserve batteries at the moment. We've only got few hours before we lose them too", came the strained response.

"Copy that. Can you get your dropships away? If we could dock with you, it'd make the evacuation a lot easier".

"Negative, the docking collars are in the contaminated areas. We sealed off everywhere aft of the cargo hold after the radiation alarms sounded".

"Kali's eyes!" the pilot muttered under his breath.

"Wait!" said his co-pilot, Adept Michael Chopra, "Couldn't we extend a flexible pressurised collar to one of their hatches?"

Rishi frowned in thought. "It'd be damn tricky…we'd have to match velocities very precisely, so as not to stress the collar too much or break the magnetic couplings".

"I don't see any other way we can do it".

The pilot sighed. "Nor can I. Pass the word to the chief engineer".

Five decks below, in Bay 3, technician Adept Irvine Walsh cursed in fluent Gaelic after cutting the com-link with the bridge, wondering, not for the first time, what he'd done wrong in a previous life to deserve this assignment. He muttered a brief prayer to Blake's spirit, which was said to watch over all members of the Blessed Order, hoping against all reason that they'd all come out of this in one piece.

Assembling his team, he ordered them to first don EVA suits before beginning work. Most dropships carried flexible docking collars for use in emergencies, but they were very rarely used and the risks involved meant they were strictly a last resort measure.

Working in the heavy EVA suits just made an already tricky job devilishly hard, especially as the dropship was moving under a steady 1G of thrust. The suits, designed for use in the vacuum of space, were extremely cumbersome in gravitational conditions that were almost Terran-like. Under Walsh's supervision, his team manhandled the large, bulky, but not overly heavy, collar assembly from its storage locker and manoeuvred it, with difficulty, across the largely empty mech bay.

The hardest part was getting it up the access ladder that led to the hatch that was normally used when the dropship was docked with another vessel. Once in the airlock, the techs made sure their suits' magnetic-soled boots were working properly before opening the outer door and allowing the hostile environment of space to come howling in.

It took some getting used to, standing upside down on a ship's hull, or at right angles, knowing the only thing stopping you from drifting off to a cold lonely death, were the electromagnets in the boots and any part of the hull you could find to hang on to. There was some consolation in the spectacular view they were afforded, this close to the Wellington system's sun. The polarised helmet visors allowed them to look directly at the giant ball of nuclear fusion without being blinded. They were also close enough to see at close quarters, the damage inflicted on the jumpship and its passenger dropships by their unknown assailants.

The stark reminder of the peril faced by her crew and passengers, made them redouble their efforts and in less than an hour they had expanded the collar's collapsible frame to the correct size and deployed the magnetic clamps that would hold it in place until they activated the electromagnetic retaining ring, which they'd had to position with millimetre accuracy around the hatch to ensure the best possible contact with the hull.

Back inside the _St Pancras_, the techs kept their suits on in case anything went wrong or needed adjusting. Walsh held the collar's remote control unit in his gloved, clumsy-feeling right hand and hit the button to activate the electromagnetic retainer. No one spoke, but everyone unconsciously held their breath as they waited to see if the thing would actually work or not.

"Yes!" Walsh gave a quiet but exultant cheer as the display on the remote's screen showed a schematic of the collar, with the retainer surrounded by a blinking green ring, indicating it was functioning properly.

He fiddled with some other buttons and the others saw him nod in satisfaction. "Looks like the extender motors are working just fine too".

Without being asked, one of the other techs hit the switch to re-pressurise the airlock so they could re-enter the ship.

Once out of his EVA suit, Walsh found the nearest com unit and hailed the bridge. "Bridge, Walsh here. The collar's deployed and all systems are green. You are good to go for the evac".

"Copy that, Chief", replied Rishi, using the senior technician's nickname.

He looked over at Chopra. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be…" His co-pilot's response was less than convincing.

Murthi opened a general frequency that let him address the entire ship. "Okay people, I'm going to attempt to manoeuvre the ship into a docking position with the jumpship. We're going to need to get quite close and we'll be subjected to turbulence, caused by the wake from our own engines being deflected from the jumpship's hull. I would advise all personnel not on duty to find somewhere to sit or lie down and hang on tight…this could get quite bumpy".

Throughout the ship, people not required for the mission, heeded Rishi's advice, while he executed a high-G turn, almost reversing course, before using the dropship's thrusters to bring the _St Pancras_ alongside the stricken jumpship. Some deft throttle work slowed the smaller vessel until it was stationary, relative to the _Minstrel_.

As he had predicted, the deflected wash from their engines bounced back at them from the _Minstrel's_ hull, forcing the smaller vessel away. Murthi struggled with controls, trying to maintain a constant position relative to the jumpship. He opened a link to Engineering. "Chief, we're in position. I suggest you get us hooked up to the Minstrel ASAP. We're getting some serious backwash here and I don't know how long I can hold her steady".

"Aye, sir. We're on it right now", replied Irvine. Walsh and his team, who had been standing by for the pilot's call, jumped into action.

Both men's worst fears were confirmed as soon as the collar began extending out from the _St Pancras_' hatchway. This close to the sun, (in astronomical terms, at least) the solar winds were quite ferocious and threatened to rip it from the side of the ship.

Between them, Walsh and Murthi co-ordinated the deployment, the experienced crew chief giving instructions to the pilot over the intercom, as he monitored the collar's unsteady progress. The collar swayed erratically, buffeted by the solar winds and the backwash of the dropship's engines. Rishi was forced to use every last ounce of skill and concentration to keep it aligned with the jumpship's hatch. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, there was a loud thump that reverberated through the _St Pancras'_ hull, announcing that the collar was firmly secured to the other vessel. Even after it had secured itself to the jumpship, the Kevlar-reinforced fabric of the connecting tube swayed disconcertingly, between the two jockeying vessels.

"Okay, equalise the pressure", Walsh called to one of his techs, standing in the airlock. He and the others donned their EVA suit helmets once more in case something went wrong.

The crewman in the airlock made an 'okay' gesture and hit the control switch that opened both the outer and inner doors, in sequence. The normal procedure would have been to open the small valves in the collar to slowly bleed air into the tunnel, but given the precarious nature of their situation, nobody wanted to wait that long. There was a sudden gust of air as atmosphere from the dropship rushed into the connecting tunnel to fill the vacuum. Everyone held their breath as they waited for an alarm or some indication that the seals were about to break, but none came.

Walsh nodded again in satisfaction. "Okay, good job people".

He walked over to the bay's com unit and called the bridge. "Sir, we have an airtight connection. Signal the Minstrel to begin evac".

"Copy that".

Rishi switched back to the channel he'd used to communicate with the jumpship. "St Pancras to Minstrel, we have attached a flexible docking collar to your forward starboard hatch. The connecting tunnel has now been pressurised and you are clear to proceed with evacuation".

"Not a moment too soon…our reserve power is almost gone! Beginning evac immediately", came the panicked sounding voice of the jumpship's pilot.

Rishi glanced across at his co-pilot with a raised eyebrow. "Nice to be appreciated, isn't it?"

Chopra gave a grim smile as the dropship continued to buck and weave in the turbulence. "The guy's under a lot of stress right now. I'm sure he'll remember his manners once he's safely aboard".

To everyone's relief, the evacuation went surprisingly quickly. It seemed no-one wanted to remain on the doomed jumpship a second longer than was absolutely necessary.

Walsh and his team soon had their hands full, guiding frightened passengers to the quarantine area set up by Dr Findlay and her medics, assisting or carrying the wounded, while keeping an eye on the collar. The erratic movement of the pressurised tunnel scared some of the already panicked evacuees. However, they were soon coaxed and cajoled through by Walsh's techs as well as those behind them, impatient to come through.

Irvine checked the collar's control unit for the umpteenth time as he observed the evacuation process. The erratic movement of the two vessels, added to the strain put on it by the arriving evacuees, meant that the load stresses were close to exceeding the electromagnetic force, holding the ferro-titanium collars in place. Worse, the heavy-duty material of the connecting tunnel was becoming warped. Despite his techs' best efforts, too many were bringing personal effects and other items, which in addition to holding up the evacuation, was putting their fragile lifeline in jeopardy.

Walsh frowned as he turned to the com unit again. "Sir, tell the Minstrel their people are _not_ to bring anything with them. They also need to move their arses…the stress levels in the collars are reaching critical and I'm not sure how much longer the couplings will hold. If you could try and hold us a little steadier, it'd help".

Murthi came back, sounding as harassed as he felt, "I'll do my best Chief, on both counts, but the engine backwash and the damn solar winds are playing havoc with the controls".

Just then the collar's control unit beeped at him urgently. He glanced at it and saw the steady green rings, denoting a secure electromagnetic lock, had changed to flashing red. The load indicators, showing the force being exerted on the collars at both ends were also in the red. Walsh felt his stomach lurch as he saw the stream of evacuees showed no sign of abating just yet.

He hit the com unit's transmit button again. "Skipper, the collar's gonna go!"

"Shit!" Rishi swore as he fought the controls, trying to bring the dropship even closer, to relieve the strain on the connection that was jumpship crew's only hope of survival.

Just then, a shout from Chopra distracted him. "Sir, I'm picking up a large jump signature, bearing One Eight Seven. Something's coming in system and whatever it is, it's pretty big! Co-ordinates indicate they're not using a regular jump point. Whoever it is they're gonna come in right on top of us!"

"For the love of Blake…what else is going to go wrong today?"

Suddenly the ship lurched violently to port. The radio crackled to life and the voice of the Minstrel's captain filled the flight deck, more panic-stricken than ever. "St Pancras, we've lost all power! Thrusters are gone…life support won't last much longer. We can't hold position!"

Chopra gave another shout. "It's one of ours, sir! Looks like a yard ship from the Arcturus. How the hell did it get here so quickly?"

Murthi felt like his brain was going to melt from information overload, coupled with the strain of trying to hold the dropship steady. Nevertheless, the arrival of the yard ship was a welcome development.

Switching his radio to a general hailing frequency, he shouted a desperate message to the newcomer.

"Unidentified vessel, this is the dropship St Pancras, attached to the warship Athena. We're attempting to evacuate the crew of a crippled jumpship, but they've lost all power and are in danger of falling out of orbit. Can you tow us to Wellington?"

* * *

.

**_Yard Ship _Stornoway,**

**_Pirate Jump Point,_**

**_Wellington System, Britannic Coalition_**

.

"St Pancras, this is the yard ship Stornoway, that's affirmative. ETA your position is approximately five minutes".

A seasoned salvage expert, Captain Lasker could see the seriousness of the situation the moment the slightly disorientating effects of the jump had worn off. He wasted no time with the usual banter, realising they would have to forego the usual lengthy "by the manual" towing procedures. This was going to be a seat of the pants job. He ordered the _Stornoway_ to maximum thrust until the ship's nose was level with the _Minstrel's_ fire-ravaged stern.

A scant two hundred metres above the _Minstrel_, the damage she'd sustained was all too apparent. Lasker drummed his fingers impatiently on his command console as the engines were cut and he waited for the 550,000-ton vessel to drift into position to deploy her towing cables. Half a kilometre ahead of the jumpship, Lasker ordered the towing cables to be deployed.

The titanium reinforced, carbon-fibre composite cables were light, flexible and immensely strong. Two kilometres long, they were stored on four massive twenty-metre diameter reels, housed in the stern. On the end of each was an articulated, electromagnetic claw that could clamp itself to most surfaces. They were fired at high speed out of the cable hawsers, using an electromagnetic propulsion system. The cable cores were made of myomer strands, which were configured so that when a charge was applied, their contractions made the cables curve up, down, left and right, which allowed them to be "steered" to their target.

In the background he could hear the cable operator's instructions to the helmsman, calling for thruster bursts and course corrections to compensate for the jumpship's drift. All in all, it took over quarter of an hour before the cables were locked on to the _Minstrel's_ hull. The salvage master applied the brakes to the giant drums, which jerked the massive cables taut. The only perceptible sign they had finally caught their quarry was a noticeable slowing of the ship and a slight dipping at the stern as first the cables, then the _Stornoway_ herself, slowed then halted the quarter of a million-ton jumpship's momentum.

Given that a disaster had narrowly been averted, the crewman's voice was remarkably unemotional. "Cables One through Four showing a solid lock, Captain…ready to commence recovery on your order".

"Very well, stand by".

He opened a channel to the St Pancras. "St Pancras, this is Stornoway. We're ready to begin recovery. Are you finished with the evac?"

* * *

.

**_Dropship_ St Pancras,**

**_Docked with Jumpship_ Minstrel,**

.

"Just a moment, I'll check with our…oh shit!"

Stopped from drifting by the _Stornoway's_ tow cables, the _Minstrel_ had now begun to swing upward and to starboard, towards the _St Pancras_.

Rishi quickly stabbed a button on his comms panel to open a link to the mech bay. "Walsh, if there's anyone in the tunnel - get them the hell out of there!"

He punched the button to activate the port thrusters but he knew it was already too late to prevent a collision.

Down in the mech bay, Irvine had already seen the problem as the tunnel had begun to crumple behind the last of the evacuees, the _Minstrel's_ pilot. He lumbered over to the hatch, cursing his bulky EVA suit and grabbed one of the man's arms, while another tech grabbed the other arm. They dragged the surprised pilot bodily from the tunnel, just as the two hulls came together. Although it was only a minor scrape, the impact was still enough to knock everyone off their feet and send any loose equipment flying like so many unguided projectiles.

Almost immediately, they had another problem on their hands as the port thrusters began to push the _St Pancras_ away from the _Minstrel_. As the mech bay's occupants struggled to regain their footing, the dropship's momentum began to pull apart the already weakened connecting tunnel. In the end, it was the damaged magnetic collar that gave way first, pulling away from the dropship's hatch with a groan of tortured metal. Immediately the bay was filled with a swirling vortex that threatened to suck its occupants to a cold, rapid death.

Fortunately the techs were still fully protected by their EVA suits. As Walsh clung to a stanchion for dear life, he glanced round the bay frantically, racking his brains for a solution. As he did so, he saw one of his techs, inching their way across the bay, sliding and skidding from one handhold to the next, towards the airlock. It was painfully slow going though and the relentless vacuum continued to drag any loose equipment towards the open hatch. He closed his eyes and turned his head as two of the jumpship passengers lost their grip and flew past him, screaming. Mercifully, they were knocked unconscious as they slammed into the deck, before being flung out into space. After what seemed an eternity, the tech finally reached the airlock controls and slapped a gloved hand on the buttons to close both the outer and inner doors.

The deadly howling vortex vanished, replaced with a silence, broken only by the creaks and groans of the dropship's hull. For several moments, nobody moved, as though afraid that, by doing so, they'd trigger another disaster.

With difficulty, Irvine released his iron grip on the stanchion, staggered to his feet and walked unsteadily over to the bay's com unit. "Walsh to Bridge…evacuation complete", was all he could manage.

Murthi caught the shakiness in his voice. "What happened…is everyone okay?"

"The pilot nearly got crushed in the collision, then the collar tore off and we lost two passengers and a load of gear before Isaac could close the airlock", said the chief technician wearily.

Rishi closed his eyes and offered up a silent prayer for the lost passengers. "Okay Chief. You and your men did an unbelievable job. You'll all get a mention in my report. We're headed back to the Athena. In the meantime, assist Dr Findlay and her team any way you can".

"Aye, sir".

Switching channels, Murthi contacted the yard ship. "St Pancras to Stornoway, we're finished here. We're taking the survivors back to the Athena".

"Copy that St Pancras. Congratulations on your rescue op - it looked pretty hairy from here. I imagine it must have been one hell of a ride, being hooked up to that jumpship".

"That would be the understatement of the century, Stornoway", was the dropship pilot's relieved reply.

"No kidding. We'll take the jumpship back with us to the Cygnus yard. With the damage she's got, they're best placed to fix her up".

"Copy that Stornoway...St Pancras out".

* * *

.

**_Yard Ship_ Stornoway,**

**_En Route Nadir Jump Point,_**

**_Wellington System_**

.

Lasker turned to his bridge crew. "Salvage, commence recovery. Helm, plot a course to the nadir jump point and set co-ordinates for the Newcastle system".

As both crewmen responded in the affirmative, the _Stornoway_ began to move towards the star's southern pole. Under the salvage officer's watchful eye, the massive towing cables were slowly reeled back in, the drums' powerful motors drawing the stricken jumpship inexorably towards safety. By the time the yard ship had reached the jump point, both the _Minstrel_ and her two dropships had been swallowed by the _Stornoway's_ massive docking bay, which was large enough to accommodate ships displacing up to a million tons.

* * *

.

**_Dropship_ St Pancras,**

**_En Route BCS _Athena,**

**_Wellington System_  
**

.

Adept Murthi had barely begun to relax after setting the dropship on a course back to the Athena, when the bridge intercom beeped yet again.

It was Walsh. "Sir, I've got the jumpship's skipper here, he says he needs to speak to you urgently. Shall I send him up?"

Rishi frowned. "Is he in any fit state to make it to the bridge?"

"Not really, but that doesn't seem to be stopping him". There was a brief pause. "He's most insistent sir – says it can't wait".

"Very well", Murthi said, intrigued. "Send him up".

Several minutes later the flight deck door opened and a dazed and exhausted looking man, whose flight suit was torn and dirty almost beyond recognition, stumbled in. He stared around the flight deck, momentarily confused, before locking on to Murthi.

"Captain…thank you for agreeing to see me…" he began.

"It's Adept Seven, actually, but go ahead", Rishi replied.

The man appeared not to have heard him. "I am Captain Jonas Tait, the master of the jumpship Minstrel. First, I must thank you for rescuing my crew and passengers. We will be forever in your debt…"

Murthi gave a grim smile. "Well, I won't say it was nothing, but we were simply doing our duty. The Coalition doesn't ignore or abandon people in distress".

Captain Tait nodded, as if in understanding, but his eyes were still somewhat vacant, as if he wasn't altogether there. Murthi put it down to the man's recent close brush with death.

"Secondly, I have been asked by my employer to pass on a message of the utmost importance. He would do it himself, but he was injured during the rescue and is being treated by your medical staff". He paused, as if waiting for something.

"Go ahead", said Murthi. "You can use that comms panel next to you to record your message. Tell us who its for and we'll make sure it gets there once we're aboard the Athena".

Tait shook his head, slipping a hand into a pocket of his flight suit. He withdrew a holodisk in a slim plastic case. Before we left Black Isle, my employer recorded this message. He said it is only for the eyes of the Regent or Prime Minister. It contains an account of what happened there and of the possible ramifications for the Britannic Coalition".

Rishi frowned but didn't press the issue. The rest of the journey passed uneventfully. As soon as they had docked with the _Athena_ and moved the wounded to the warship's larger and more sophisticated medical centre, Murthi and Chopra escorted Captain Tait to the bridge. Captain Forbes was equally perplexed by the man's tale, but also refrained from pushing the clearly traumatised jumpship skipper for more answers.

"Okay, we can beam an encrypted transmission to the HPG station at Taunton. From there it'll go via a secure link to Britannia…eyes only for the Regent himself. Given the local transmission schedule, it should get there in six to twelve hours. That good enough for you?" asked Forbes.

Tait nodded gratefully. He stayed just long enough to oversee the transmission procedure, before finally allowing himself to be escorted to sickbay for a thorough examination.


	4. Clearing the Decks

**_Office of the Regent, _**

**_Blenheim Palace, _****_Westminster,_**

**_Britannia, Britannic Coalition,_**

**_The Periphery_**

"Morning Debra – anything interesting for me today?" asked William, more cheerfully than he felt, as Deborah Harrington, his personal assistant walked in.

"Mainly more requests from the Press Office, I'm afraid, sir", she replied, almost apologetically. "I put a summary on here", she continued, handing over a palm computer, "These are the hard copies in their entirety", she finished, carefully placing a stack of papers in his in tray.

William Sandringham looked up and accepted the palm computer with his free hand, putting down the report he was holding in the other. According to the summary, most of them were requests from the various media groups, wanting an official statement on the Coalition's operation against the pirates on The Rack. Others were from arms companies and suppliers, sniffing for contracts in the wake of the BCAF's latest recruitment drive. Almost inevitably, some were queries about the Black Isle incident, details of which, despite all their precautions, were beginning to leak to the general populace. He sighed and took another long swig of coffee. He had no answers to the latter right now, but it looked as though he would have to find some pretty soon.

One of the bright spots of the morning had been the report from Precentor Jackson, which he'd just put down. It seemed the Britannia Guards had fared well against Pearson's Predators…a proud moment in the early history of the Coalition's largely untested military.

"Oh – and this arrived from the Milton Keynes HPG station. I accepted it, using your authorisation code", Deborah said, fishing a message slip from her suit jacket pocket.

"Who is it from?" he asked, rubbing his eyes. All this reading was giving him a migraine.

"Samuel Trevithick, the governor of Wellington, sir. The captain of that refugee jumpship has once again requested an audience with either you or the Prime Minister, on behalf of his employer. As a matter of fact, Mr Cameron should be receiving his copy of the message as we speak".

Sandringham gave a sigh of exasperation. Ever since the incident on Black Isle, he'd tried to keep any communications with the Alliance, strictly through official channels. While the scandal of the Coalition's implication was something his government could probably survive, causing any further offence, thereby risking military action by their larger neighbour, was something to be avoided at all costs. Meeting with the PenderCorp chairman, so soon after the event, would be unlikely to help relations with the Alliance, given the rising tensions between the two states over recent weeks.

The Regent put down the palm computer and accepted the proffered transmission slip. It did not make pleasant reading.

* * *

_***TRANSTELLAR COMMUNICATIONS COM FILE 37105968 ***_

_**Status:**__ PHI III_

_**Priority:**__ DELTA II_

_**From:**__ J. Pendergrass III, Taunton, Wellington_

_**To:**__ ****** ** *** ******, Milton Keynes, Britannia_

_**Date:**__ 25/09/68_

_Dear Sir,_

_I urgently need to speak with you over the recent events that have occurred on Black Isle. I am sought after in the Royalist Alliance for the destruction of military property and I have nowhere else to turn for refuge until this conflict can be cleared up. Also, I believe that this whole affair may not be what it seems. There may be more sinister things going on than a friendly-fire incident or a pirate raid._

_In any case, I need a chance to talk to you about these events, so we can reach an understanding, otherwise all I have struggled for since I fled the Federated Commonwealth will have been for naught. I also believe that the security of both the Alliance and the Coalition may be in jeopardy._

_Please reply at your earliest convenience.  
_

_Yours Sincerely, _

_**Joseph Miller Pendergrass III**_

_CEO Pendercorp_

_***END TRANSMISSION***_

_

* * *

_

Sandringham sighed and carefully laid the message slip on his desk. Unorthodox or not, any information the man could offer that might shed some light on the matter couldn't be ignored – especially if it might help clear the Coalition's name. "What's my schedule for tomorrow like?" he asked.

His PA closed her eyes and recited from memory, "Nine o'clock you've got a meeting with the trade delegation from New India, one o'clock is the lunch appointment with the governor of Newcastle, concerning corporate taxation, three o'clock..."

"Clear my diary", he said abruptly, cutting her off in mid-stream.

"What?" Deborah Harrington looked positively stricken. "You can't just..."

"Oh, but I can Debs", William smiled and winked at her. "That's one of the nice things about being Regent. When you have a genuine crisis on your hands, you're allowed to sweep all the petty crap under the table… for a while at least. Schedule a meeting with Mr Pendergrass for nine. This could take a while and I don't need any interruptions. Call Precentor Jackson's office too...I'd like to get a military perspective on this".

"Sir, do you have any idea how much grief I'm going to get for this?" Deborah wailed, her face a picture of misery, as she contemplated telling the various delegates that they'd just been moved down the pecking order. She didn't even want to contemplate the amount of work getting everyone to agree on a revised schedule would entail.

William laid a comforting hand on her arm. "I'll make it up to you - I promise".

"How?" she asked. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Her boss had something of a reputation as a prankster.

William thought quickly. "Um...how about dinner for two…no - make that a weekend break for yourself and that young man you're seeing at the moment...what's his name...?"

"Ethan Philips...he's an Acolyte with the 509th Division, currently stationed at the Highgrove Academy on Torpoint".

"Ah, yes, that's the fellow. How does a weekend break for the two of you, at the Mayfair Resort sound, eh?"

"Are you serious?" Deborah's eyes were wide in disbelief. The Mayfair Resort was _the_ holiday destination for the Coalition's wealthy elite. Small, but secluded and incredibly luxurious, with prices to match, only a select band of jet setters could normally afford to holiday there.

"Cross my heart and hope to die", William said solemnly, criss-crossing his chest.

"Consider it done, sir!" She literally skipped off to her office, a broad smile on her face.

William sat on the corner of his desk, picked up the letter and read it again. He shook his head and frowned. This was SO not what he needed right now. A sudden thought struck him and he slid off his desk and walked back around to his chair. Leaning over his intercom, he punched in the code for Precentor Jackson's office, conveniently bypassing the Defence Ministry's small army of administrators. Moments later, his Chief of Staff's face appeared on the small liquid crystal display. William thought he looked rather more haggard than usual.

"Good morning, sir – what can I do for you?" Jackson looked pale and drawn. The dark circles round his eyes told the Regent that the Precentor Commander not been getting much rest lately.

William waved the letter he had just read, together with the transcript of the message from the _Minstrel's_ skipper. "I'd like your opinion on these. I think they may give us a clue as to the origins of the problems currently being experienced by the Alliance, Pendercorp and ourselves".

He fed the sheets into a scanner, built in to his desk, which read them and sent electronic copies to the computer terminal on the Precentor's desk.

"Oh, and by the way, you've got a meeting here, tomorrow morning, nine o'clock sharp".

"I do?" Jackson's brow creased with a confused frown.

"You do. Expect an official missive from my secretary before close of play today. I've had my aide get in touch with Cygnus, see if they can find a berth for the Minstrel. Her crew will need temporary accommodation too. I've arranged for her captain to be brought here via the command circuit...he's invited to the meeting too".

Jackson glanced away from the camera, as his computer beeped to inform him the document transfer was complete. "Will there be anything else, sir?" He asked wearily, returning his attention to the Regent.

"Try and get some rest Rob, you look knackered".

Jackson pulled a face. "I'm glad to see His Highness has not lost his sense of humour. He of all people should know running a war does not give a commander much time for rest". He nodded. "I shall see you tomorrow at nine then, sir".

William scowled, "I've told you before – don't call me that!" He then gave a sympathetic smile, "Don't be late – I'll be making my special coffee".

William waved goodbye at the screen as Jackson cut the link. He found it difficult to concentrate for the remainder of the day, wondering what tomorrow would bring.


	5. Alarm Bells

**_OCS _Odin_,  
Pirate Jump Point,  
Pain System,  
The Periphery,  
25th September, 3068 _**

"Skipper, Comms here. We're receiving flash traffic over a secure channel". The voice startled Captain Elisabeth Gideon from her daydream. "It's from Commodore Ross on the Idun".

"Very well, put him through".

"That's a negative, Captain…this is a Code Ultraviolet message".

The communications officer's words turned Gideon's blood as cold as the liquid helium that cooled her ship's K-F hyper-drive. Code Ultraviolet meant significant danger to her command.

Swallowing, she tabbed the com unit built into her command chair. "I'm on my way down. Contact the XO and have him meet me there, Gideon out".

"Something up, skipper?" asked the ship's bosun, noticing the change in his captain's demeanour.

"That's what I'm going to find out…" Gideon replied, standing up. The magnetic plates on the bottom of her deck shoes clicked, as she slowly made her way across the bridge to the hatch.

"You have the conn. Call the Master At Arms to the bridge and have her wait here for me".

"Aye-aye Captain".

The Combat Information Centre, or CIC, was a constant hive of activity, even when the ship was docked at a friendly port. Gideon brushed away the few stray hairs that were drifting in front of her eyes as she returned the salute from the pair of armed Marines on guard duty.

"I've decoded it twice and triple checked the authenticity". The duty communications officer, a young Leading Rate, was seated at her station, talking to the _Odin's_ Executive Officer. "The message has to be genuine…I mean, who else has access to our encryption protocols and an Enigma transmitter?"

"Good point", Lieutenant Commander William 'Wild Bill' Maddox nodded, "Keep an ear open for any other unusual transmissions originating in-system".

"Aye, sir".

"What is it?" Gideon asked, surprising the other two with her sudden appearance.

"The All-Seeing Eye intercepted a secure communication emanating from within the Royalist Alliance High Command". Maddox handed over a printout, "It looks like a Coalition unit attacked the PenderCorp battlemech plant on Black Isle. What's worrying is that particular unit is supposed to have just concluded operations against a pirate unit on The Rack".

"Orders from Commodore Ross?" Gideon queried.

"Only that we are to, quote, take any and all necessary measures to ensure the security of the ship and ultimately the Colonies themselves. I've taken the liberty of ordering the chief engineer to arm the explosives attached to the NAVCOM. The rest of the squadron is heading for Hunters Paradise to provide cover for the Brunel".

"Good idea. Can we contact the Pathfinders?"

"No, they went dark as soon as their dropship burnt from Pain. They'll observe strict radio silence for the next ten days".

"Unless the shit hits the fan..." Gideon reached across to the intercom built into the bulkhead. "Bridge, Captain".

"Bosun here".

"Sound General Quarters. Have the Master At Arms issue side arms to all crew members and have the CAG to begin launching CAP flights immediately". Gideon cut the link without waiting for a response. "And may God help us all..." she added quietly.

* * *

**_Office of the Regent,_**

**_Blenheim Palace, Westminster,_**

**_Britannia, Britannic Coalition,_**

**_The Periphery,  
_**

**_26 September, 3068_**

It was 8:46am and the Regent, unable to sleep, had already been in his office for an hour and a half. He'd used the quiet time to deal with the petty administrative stuff he usually didn't have time for and was currently nursing a cup of extra strong coffee, freshly brewed from the drip machine in the corner of his office. Precentor Commander Jackson sat in a chair, just to the left of the desk, an identical mug of the Regent's favourite "wake-up" beverage in his hands. The head of the palace's security detail had stuck his head through the door a few minutes earlier, to inform them that Joseph Pendergrass and the _Minstrel's_ captain were already heading over from their hotel and were due to arrive in ten minutes.

_'Pendergrass sure is one for timeliness'_, William thought sleepily as he took another gulp of coffee.

When Joseph M. Pendergrass was eventually ushered in to the office at a quarter to nine, Sandringham wondered if he'd ever seen anyone look more tired. The Regent had briefly met the entrepreneur once before, when he'd been a VIP guest, at an Alliance trade convention. At the time, the businessman been looking for a new base of operations in the Periphery and had eventually chosen Black Isle in the Royalist Alliance, over the relatively primitive facilities the Coalition had been able to offer back then. The Regent had a good memory for faces though and was shocked to see the pleasant, mild-mannered man he had met then, now a shadow of his former self. He appeared to have aged ten years, in the fifteen months or so since the convention, the deep-set wrinkles that furrowed his brow and creased his mouth, and the flecks of grey in his dark hair, visible evidence of the stress the man was under. The dark circles around his eyes, spoke of a man who hadn't been sleeping well lately. He also appeared to have lost weight, although that might just have been the cut of his clothes or the lighting.

Perhaps most disturbing of all was Pendergrass' expression. His face was fixed in the "thousand yard stare" often seen in war veterans and attributed to highly traumatic experiences. He seemed to be moving on autopilot, his motions those of a sleepwalker, while his mind appeared to be somewhere else entirely. Sandringham found it easy to sympathise. He knew only too well, from his experiences in the Com Guards and in his current position as ruler of the Coalition, the kind of stresses the man had to be enduring.

The Regent silently directed Pendergrass and the jumpship captain, who appeared equally traumatised, to the empty chairs to the right of his desk. The businessman sighed as he sank back into the comfortable chair. An awkward silence followed as the Pendercorp Chief Executive lay back and closed his eyes for a moment. When his breathing became slow and even, as though asleep, the Regent cleared his throat noisily in mild irritation. The CEO opened his eyes with a start, having obviously dozed off. He sat upright and, with difficulty, focused his gaze on his host. Taking a moment to regain his composure, he began to speak in a surprisingly calm, level voice, robbed of any emotion by his exhaustion.

"My apologies, Regent…I haven't gotten much rest lately…none of us has". William raised a hand in pardon and Pendergrass continued, "I came to tell you that I suspect the people involved in the attack on my factory had no ties to either the Royalist Alliance or the Britannic Coalition".

"The Alliance government treated us well since my company began operations on Black Isle, just over a year ago. They subsidized our start-up costs and drafted new legislation that protected new companies like PenderCorp from predation by larger, established manufacturers, until they're in a position to compete. All that, on top of corporate regulation that is already very fair to begin with…although, to be honest, it was the better facilities and infrastructure that swung the deal for me".

Joseph smiled weakly, recalling the triumph he had felt at establishing a successful arms business on the fringes of the Inner Sphere and the elation at having, seemingly, left the problems of his previous career behind.

The smile quickly faded as his immediate problems surged to the fore again. "The fact that the Alliance did not inform me through the usual channels, of the pirate raid, or the force they were sending to deal with it, gives me reason to doubt that they were involved in the attack. There is also the fact that the raiders had aerospace assets. I happen to know the 4th Royalist Lancers - the unit stationed near our facility, who the attackers claimed to be, have no aerospace assets. This confirms, to my mind at least, that Alliance forces were not involved".

Pendergrass' voice was calm, his thought processes detached and logical. He seemed to stare right through the Regent, into empty space, as he spoke. "My security force detected heavy ECM jamming prior to the raid. Although it blinded our sensors, it only served to make us raise our alert status. Whoever was behind this must have known that would happen. There is also, however, the possibility that the ECM blanket may have been aimed at jamming our communications, preventing us from receiving notification of an approaching RAAF force. I believe we were duped into attacking a friendly force". He spread his arms wide and slumped back into the chair. "But of course, I simply can't say for sure", he concluded, shaking his head wearily.

He paused to collect his thoughts, before sitting upright again. "What also convinces me there are other forces at work here, are the descriptions of the attackers, given by our surviving test pilots. The colours and insignia they claim to have seen on some of the enemy mechs, matches those used by some Coalition units. I don't see how this could be so. For the BCAF to enter Alliance territory and launch attacks on a third party manufacturing facility, as well as the local RAAF unit, just doesn't make any sense whatsoever, given the excellent relations between your two states at the time of the incident".

'_His analysis isn't that different from our own…this is one smart guy for a civilian'_, the Regent thought.

Pendergrass continued, "There is also the matter of the stolen designs and equipment. The Alliance has no need for either, since I have already supplied them with hardware that they could easily take apart and reproduce, if they wanted to. The same goes for the Coalition. I have already sold Pendermechs to your military, who could reverse-engineer the machines, if they so wished".

Lines of anger creased his face. "No, I cannot believe that either the Coalition or the Alliance had any involvement in this incident! Yet despite all the evidence to the contrary and despite the fact I am the one who has suffered most here, the Royalist Alliance has issued a warrant for my arrest!"

He was becoming increasingly agitated, despite his tiredness, now sitting on the edge of his seat.

'_Great, so now we're harbouring a wanted man'_, Sandringham thought, _'And it won't take long before they figure out where he fled to'_. He shared a glance with Jackson and it was clear from his expression, the other man was thinking the same thing.

Then, just as suddenly, their guest seemed to calm down again. "When I lost contact with my defense forces, I ordered both dropships to be loaded with all the equipment and material we could salvage in the time we had left. The plan was that we would abandon the facility, head off planet and dock with the jumpship, hopefully escaping the ECM blanket and breaking contact with the Royalist Alliance. We made it...but only just. A few more minutes and we'd have been dead.

The lead elements of the raiding force reached the facility perimeter, just as we were lifting off. But even then, we weren't safe. On reaching the Minstrel, we encountered a warship in orbit that attacked us while we were docking. We didn't even have time to fire back – not that we could have done much more than annoy them".

He indicated the _Minstrel's_ captain, sat next to him, "It was all Jonas could do to get the jump drive online and get us out of there before we were destroyed. That warship also supports my theory that there is an outside influence in the Black Isle incident". He shook his head. "I'm afraid I only got a few brief glimpses from the Minstrel's bridge - mostly just a large grey shape. Its hull was tilted and mostly in shadow...I couldn't see any markings".

He sighed and shook his head again. "Whoever they were, it seems pretty clear they didn't intend for anyone to make it off-planet".

Sandringham and Jackson exchanged knowing glances at that comment.

"Regent, I think that the British Periphery States are being undermined by some unknown faction, using terror tactics to throw the region into chaos…either in the hope that your states will destabilise and tear themselves apart, thus nullifying your influence in the area, or as a prelude to conquest. Whoever they are, their actions on Black Isle and this masquerade, this use of disguises, bear the hallmarks of a terrorist or guerrilla organisation. The confiscation of my prototypes and production designs shows a need for them, which makes me lean towards conquest being their ultimate goal. The presence of a warship, I believe, further supports this".

"But how many terrorist organisations, do you think, would have access to a warship…they're not the easiest of things to acquire", said Jackson quietly.

Joseph shrugged and shook his head, "Maybe they have friends in high places".

Some strange, sudden impulse caused all four men to check the time again. Pendergrass stared at the wall clock behind the Regent, while Sandringham glanced at his wristwatch. According to the display, it was only 9:33, but to everyone present, it felt a lot later.

Joseph Miller Pendergrass III sat back in his chair and for the first time, looked directly at Sandringham. His tired, despair-filled eyes bored into the Regent. Sandringham was aghast at the other man's tale, his mind full of questions, to which he knew there were no immediate answers. A quick sidelong glance at Precentor Jackson confirmed his Chief of Staff was also mulling over Pendergrass' words. Glancing back at he businessman, he was slightly unnerved to see the CEO still staring straight at him. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Sandringham looked away, suddenly unnerved by the other man's gaze. The Pendercorp CEO was clearly traumatised and at the edge of total exhaustion, having barely escaped the destruction of his factory with his life, yet he seemed determined not to give in to fatigue until he got some answers.

He turned to Precentor Jackson, who was seated to his left, on the other side of the desk. "Thoughts, Rob?"

Jackson remained in silent contemplation for a few moments. "Well, I know SIS are reviewing all the data they have on pirate groups in the area, terrorist cells and the intelligence services of neighbouring states, the Lyrans, the Rim Worlds and Circ Fed. Its possible someone has a grudge against us or a vested interest in unbalancing relations between the Coalition and the Alliance, though for the life of me I can't think why".

"Well, it doesn't matter why at the moment. Someone has apparently taken a dislike to the Alliance, Pendercorp and the Coalition. What we need to know is who, why they're so interested in us and what their future intentions may be".

"Sir, with all due respect, an investigation like that could take months...maybe longer".

"Robert, I'm aware that the task isn't an easy one, but you don't need me to tell you what's at stake here. The security of any state…or business", he said, extending a hand towards Pendergrass, "Depends on their ability to protect their interests. This whole section of the Periphery seems to be teetering on the brink of anarchy right now. The longer it takes us to get to the bottom of this and the longer we remain vulnerable to further attacks, the greater the risk to us all. I shall speak to the Director of SIS first thing tomorrow. In the meantime, I want to you to crack the whip with Section 13".

Jackson sighed. "I understand, sir".

The Regent turned to the jumpship captain. "Did you get a look at the warship that attacked you?"

The _Minstrel's_ skipper, who looked in only slightly better shape than Pendergrass, shook his head. "Only a few brief glimpses, sir. Things were kind of frantic at the time. It may have been a Dante class frigate, but I can't be sure.

"Did you see any insignia or distinctive markings?"

The captain shook his head. "Sorry, sir, I was just too busy trying to get us out of there in one piece".

"Excuse me, sirs". This was Pendergrass. "I don't wish to impose upon you further, but I have over a hundred employees and their families with me who now have nowhere to live. The factory on Black Isle…what's left of it…is now in the hands of the Alliance, or may as well be, since I can't go back there now".

His voice faltered but with a struggle he managed to compose himself. "I have people depending on me, but I have no way of taking care of them...heck, I can't even look after myself now. I lost nearly everything I had when that facility was attacked...except for the two dropships' worth of equipment we were able to salvage".

He sighed heavily and his shoulders slumped. "I guess with some time and some willing investors, we might be able to get another factory up and running, but..."

Sandringham found it hard not to sympathise with Joseph. The man had been chairman of his own company, had designed some of the best battlemechs to be found in the Periphery and was a consummate businessman. Now all that had been taken away in one swift, brutal assault by forces unknown. Surely there was some way to help. The right arrangement could be mutually beneficial. Perhaps the Minister for Commerce could look into it.

"Look I don't have any answers right now, but I promise you, we will work out a way to get you back in business. We will also find out who's behind this...and make them pay. For now though, I think the best thing you can do is get some rest…you're practically dead on your feet. We should have more news for you by tomorrow".

Sandringham used his desk com unit to call for a member of the palace staff, who escorted Pendergrass and the jumpship captain to the Palace entrance, where a waiting cab whisked them off to their hotel.


	6. The Shadowing Threat

**_Constellation Hotel,_**

**_Westminster, Britannia,_**

**_Britannic Coalition, The Periphery,_**

**_26__th__ September, 3068_**

Although Westminster was a large city, it wasn't densely populated. Its size was mostly down to the wide spacing of the residential suburbs and location of the industrial areas on the outskirts, leaving the city centre to shops, restaurants, cafes and leisure complexes, as well as many acres of beautifully landscaped parkland. The relatively short trip from the palace to the hotel, even on the capital's busy roads, took less than fifteen minutes. Both men used the time to simply relax and absorb the sights. All too soon, the vehicle pulled up outside the imposing white stone structure. Pendergrass paid the cab driver his fare and the pair made their way to the hotel lobby, where they checked in, before taking an elevator to the third floor, where they had adjacent rooms. After taking a much-needed shower, he decided to sleep for the rest of the day, even though it had only just gone ten in the morning. Finally, after all these weeks of confusion and tragedy, he at long last felt able to rest. As put his head down on a pillow and closed his eyes, he allowed sleep to overcome him, free from the feeling that he was being hunted, or that there was some urgent duty to perform. It felt like the best moment of his life, despite the melancholy circumstances surrounding his slumber.

Unfortunately, it seemed to end too soon.

"Sir, wake up…wake UP sir!"

Joseph gradually and reluctantly surfaced from a deep sleep to find Tait standing over him. Frustrated, but not angry, he mumbled, "What time is it?"

"It's just gone six o'clock, sir. Sorry to disturb you, but you must see this…" The jumpship captain led Pendergrass from the bedroom and into the lounge area. On the video screen, a news program was running. The picture showed an attractive young woman, with immaculate make-up, wearing an obviously borrowed set of camouflage gear and a flak jacket. She was riding in the passenger compartment of a small VTOL, which sported a camouflage paint scheme and military markings. She was shouting into her headset mike to make herself heard, over the whine of the aircraft's engines and the thunder of not-too-distant gunfire. A Britannia Broadcasting Corporation logo covered the top right-hand corner of the screen.

_"This is Kate Druthers coming to you live from the Exmoor Plains, twenty kilometres south east of Wellington. We are just a couple of kilometres from what appears to be a pitched battle between the III Bravo unit of the Wellington Lancers and an as yet unidentified enemy force. Obviously, we have to keep our aircraft outside the actual combat zone, so we're unable to bring you a lot of detail. Just minutes ago we were informed by an anonymous source that a patrol from III Bravo was ambushed by a larger force and was forced to retreat under heavy fire. We're seeing what appears to be artillery pounding the Lancers' headquarters. Smoke from numerous fires is obscuring much of the battlefield and we're getting reports that the enemy are using mine-laying munitions to cut off the Lancers' retreat. We can't tell much of what's going on down there..."_

*camera zooms in on a large hill with two battlemechs standing atop it*

_"These are front-line assault mechs with what our liaison officer tells us are...Royalist Alliance colours. I can't believe what I'm seeing here. If this is what I think it is, then it appears the Alliance have made an open declaration of war. John?"_

*camera switches to studio*

_"For those of you just joining us live or those on other worlds seeing this recorded, we're seeing what appears to be a heavy RAAF 'mech force with armoured vehicle support, approximately a reinforced battalion's worth, attacking the barracks of the Wellington Lancers, along with several units who were out on manoeuvres, just north of their base in Dorchester. We don't have many details beyond what we're seeing here from the VTOL, but at about 5pm local time, we received an anonymous tip that a Lancer unit had been ambushed by unidentified attackers and shortly afterwards our affiliate news team confirmed this. We now return to Kate Druthers in the field."_

*camera switches to interior view of VTOL*

_"Thank you, John. Details are unclear, but it is possible that this is the work of a rogue military unit from the Royalist Alliance. Coming hard on the heels of the attack against the PenderCorp mech production facility on Black Isle, it does seem like too much of a coincidence, especially given that an RAAF unit were linked with an incident involving PenderCorp personnel just prior to the attack. Whether this is the same group or a different one remains unknown and speculation at this point would be unwise. Wait a minute- something's happened!"_

*camera switches to view of a flaming battlemech collapsing, wreathed in smoke*

_"Yes, it appears one of the suspected RAAF mechs has been downed by combined fire from two Lancer units! The artillery is still hitting the Lancers' headquarters hard and their rear is completely obscured by smoke. I can't tell from this distance, but it appears that both sides have taken heavy casualties. As you can see, John, the situation is extremely grave. We still don't the motive behind this apparently unprovoked attack, nor can we even confirm that the attackers are from the Royalist Alliance. Oh my goodness…oh my goodness…two Lancer mechs just went down. I don't think either pilot ejected. John, have we had any official comment on this?"  
_  
_"No, Kate. We've contacted the Ministry of Defence, but they're not prepared to comment yet. Can you tell if either side appears to have the upper hand?"_

_"Both sides have taken heavy casualties, John, but it does appear that the attackers are continuing to push forward. Yes, a medivac helicopter just left the area and it seems that the remaining Lancer units are falling back. They're definitely retreating, John. It's hard to tell with all the smoke obscuring the battlefield, but there only appears to be six Lancer mechs left, one with severe leg damage by the look of it. They're being pursued by a handful of enemy mechs, it's difficult to say how many. Those two assault mechs we first spotted are still on the hill directing extraordinarily accurate long-ranged fire and the artillery hasn't let up a bit. Wait a moment…there seems to be another BCAF mech, one of the new Pendermech designs, on the other side of the river from the main conflict. Yes, it too is retreating but, despite its distance from the central battle, it is still taking fire from an unseen mech or mechs"._

_"Kate, do you feel you can safely say that these are, in fact, Royalist units attacking our own forces?"_

_"I can't say for certain, John, but at the moment, all the evidence points in that direction. Hold on…now the Lancer mechs are powering down and their attackers are still closing but have ceased fire. It appears that the Lancers' commander has given the order to surrender, John. We can already see prime movers and repair vehicles moving in behind the artillery, so it would seem the attackers, presumably from the Alliance, intend to salvage all that they can and leave the area immediately. It looks like the Coalition mechs that are still mostly intact are to be considered spoils of war, John"._

_"Do you think you can…"_

_"John, I'm sorry to interrupt, but we've just been informed that we must leave the area immediately or we will be fired upon…back to you, John"._

_"All right, for those of you who may have missed the beginning of our show, what appears to be a…"_

Jonas Tait turned off the holoviewer and looked at Pendergrass, who was now pale and trembling.

"We came here through Wellington," said the jumpship skipper quietly. "It looks like they decided to follow us".

"Why would we be of any consequence at this point?" Pendergrass asked. "I don't think we can say for sure that we've been followed, but this may definitely be related".

* * *

**_Office of the Regent,_**

**_Blenheim Palace, Westminster,_**

**_Britannia_**

William Sandringham was just now beginning to hear about the incident and it was doing nothing to improve his already dark mood. _'Those media idiots are going to cause a panic with this stuff!'_ he fumed. He wasn't exactly surprised they'd found out so quickly but their thoughtless blabbering over public channels annoyed him immensely_. 'Of course, their hare-brained editors wouldn't think to maybe wait until the situation became clearer, or even as a courtesy ask for a statement from the Palace first…not that we'd have much to say if they did…'  
_  
As he continued to watch the news program on his office holovid player, he half-listened to his aide's report on the patchy data that was coming from "official" channels on Wellington.

"…and it appears they loaded up anything worth salvaging, before raiding the Lancers' headquarters, taking anything of value they could get their hands on, including numerous classified documents and several terabytes' worth of electronic data", the junior officer said, having to raise his voice to make himself heard over the holoviewer.

William put his head in his hands and sighed heavily. It seemed today that the bad news just kept on coming…

* * *

**_Nadir Jump Point,  
Hunters Paradise,_**

**_The Periphery,  
27__th _**_**September, 3068**  
_

Commodore Glen Ross looked at the holographic map of the Hunter's Paradise system and frowned.

The Star League era orbital station, where his fleet was currently based, had been purchased by the monolithic Hark Corporation and refitted to offer rest and recreational facilities, to crews making the long journey between the Outer Colonies and the Inner Sphere. Several jumpships kept station at the system's jump points, shepherded by the warships under Ross' command.

Two Essex class destroyers, Ross' own _Idun_ and her sister ship, the _Njord_, stood guard over the Nadir jump point, while the Essex class _Ull_ and Lola III class _O'Connor_ kept watch at the Zenith. Deeper in-system, not far from Hunter's Paradise itself, was the Brunel class Mobile Repair Yard _Chatham_, on hand to offer extended maintenance to any and all friendly ships in the area.

But the possibility of unfriendly ships appearing was growing more and more likely. The Outer Colonies Ministry of Intelligence, popularly known as 'The All-Seeing Eye', had picked up reports of sporadic fighting between forces supposedly representing the nearby Britannic Coalition and Royalist Alliance.

As the Outer Colonies had non-aggression and mutual aid treaties with both realms, ships from either side could conceivably request the aid of the _Chatham_ if they entered the system. The concept of the war spilling over into the corner of the Periphery that he was currently responsible for did not fill Commodore Glen Ezekiel Ross with glee.

The only thing that kept him from ordering the mobile repair yard to close up shop and head back home was the fact that he could not spare any ships to escort it. The fifth ship under his command, the Essex class destroyer _Odin_, was elsewhere in the Periphery, transporting a commando team from the pirate world known as Pain, following their successful operation there.

"Sir, we have multiple EM plumes 100,000km off the port beam", the Officer of the Watch reported. "Looks like ten…I say again, one-zero ships inbound".

"There are no scheduled convoys due in", Ross hissed. "Who has that many ships?"

"Unknown sir; it could be ships trying to escape the fighting, or it could be the Clans".

"By the Unfinished Book, pray that you are wrong. Nevertheless, prepare to implement the Cole Protocol".

"Aye-aye, Sir!"

Ross watched the EM blooms grow, all but one surpassing that generated by any civilian vessel.

"FLARE! FLARE! FLARE!" the Officer of the Watch yelled, "The first ship has just jumped in!"

"Give me an open channel!" Ross pressed the activation stud attached to the set of headphones he was wearing. "En garde, unknown vessel, this is Commodore Glen Ross of the OCS Idun. Identify yourself immediately or we will fire upon you".

"OCS Idun, this is the SS Siege Perilous", a calm voice responded. "We are operating under orders of Rear-Admiral Constantine Wolf".

"Siege Perilous, this is Idun. Hold position while we verify your ID". Ross cut the link. "What's the IFF say?"

"IFF confirms vessel as SS Siege Perilous - a Star Lord jumpship belonging to the Knights Templar", the Operations Officer reported. "Target is friendly".

"Sir, we have more ships jumping in". The Officer of the Watch looked round. "All IFF transponders read as OCDF Navy. I'm seeing the OCS Wild Swan, Toronto, Isis, Achates, Edinburgh, Sir Tristran and the FAS John Hopkins. More ships still inbound".

"It must be 2nd Squadron and the ships sent to upgrade the Coalition shipyards at Newcastle". Ross breathed a sigh of relief, "Signal the Siege Perilous that we read them as friendly and inform Admiral Wolf that I defer military control of the system to her as of now".

"Confirmed sir", the Operations Officer nodded. "Two more ships have just arrived - the Omega class destroyers Alexander and Churchill".

"The two picket ships for the Cygnus yard", Ross nodded. "That's everyone accounted for. Have the Chatham power up their HPG and send a message back home, confirming the convoy's arrival. Inform Commander Kincaid of the O'Connor that I want him to make best speed for Pain and report to Captain Gideon…I don't want the Odin sitting there alone, given what's been happening lately".


	7. A Helping Hand

**_Office of the Regent,_**

**_Blenheim Palace, Westminster,_**

**_Britannia, Britannic Coalition,_**

**_The Periphery,_**

**_28th September 3068  
_**

_"...the survivors from the Lancers' III Bravo unit were forced to withdraw south of the river, leaving the capital open to enemy attack. However, it seems the unknown raiders were content to stage a hit and run strike, withdrawing to their landing zone and lifting off from Wellington, just hours later. The Lancers suffered heavy losses in the brief but brutal confrontation, with III Bravo losing two thirds of their battlemechs, along sadly, with most of their pilots. In a brief statement to the press, from the Division's hastily-relocated headquarters, commander Precentor Julian Etherington disclosed that III Alpha and III Gamma are being redeployed to shore up the defences around the capital, Beaulieu, in anticipation of further attacks"._

The newscaster shuffled her notes, before looking into the camera again._ "In other news today..."  
_  
She was cut off as William raised a hand and thumbed the remote control's power switch, shutting off the holoviewer. He stared at his hand and was surprised to see it shaking. Then again, he had never felt the kind of fury he was experiencing now. _'Pendergrass must've felt like this while his factory was under attack',_ he thought. '_The bastards have struck twice now…once on Alliance soil and now at us'._

"Never again if I have anything to do with it", he vowed solemnly in the privacy of his empty office.

He strode over to his desk, activated the built-in com unit and punched in the direct code for Precentor James Brassington. He waited impatiently for the Coalition's Chief of Naval Operations to respond. The man had a reputation as something of a maverick who had little time for politicians and who stood on ceremony for nobody.

"Good morning Will, what can I do you for?" he asked with schoolboy humour, when he finally answered.

Sandringham decided to overlook the Precentor's lack of etiquette on this occasion, but he made a mental note to have a word with the man later. "James, I take it you've seen the news?"

"The attack on Wellington? Yes, quite a nasty business that. Are we any closer to finding out who these raiders are yet?"

"The short answer is, no. In the meantime I want every ship we have patrolling our border worlds with the Alliance. We don't have enough troops to garrison every world. Our only other option is to stop them getting planet-side in the first place. I want all inbound vessels, not on recognised schedules, stopped and boarded. No one gets through until their ID is confirmed and their reason for being in Coalition space is verified. You have my authority to use all means necessary to stop any vessels that fail to comply".

Brassington's face was a picture of shock. "Sir, with all due respect, we don't have the resources for a mission like that. With the Indefatigable away, the Navy has only eleven warships, three of which are out of service for re-fit..."

William felt his earlier anger returning. "I don't want excuses James! The security of the Coalition is at stake here. Redeploy all our active units to our most vulnerable worlds and do whatever it takes to get those ships in for refit, back out on picket duty...or I will find someone who can!"

He jammed his finger down on the button to cut the connection and sat down heavily in his chair. _'God, did I really just say that? I must've sounded like some kind of dictator'_. The thought made him smile ruefully. It didn't last long. There were too many things to do.

He made a call to SIS headquarters to find out how their investigation was going. The news from Director Tabitha Grainger did nothing to cheer him up. They had evidence of all kinds and any number of leads. The problem was they all conflicted with one another. There were so many possibilities, there was no telling when, or even if they would ever, have a clear picture of the chain of events.

His next call was to Pendergrass, using the number of the personal com unit he'd given the entrepreneur. Moments later, his face appeared on screen. "Regent Sandringham...is something wrong?" Although he looked better for having got some rest, he still had that haunted expression.

"Its okay, this is a private call - please call me William. I just wanted to update you on the situation...not that there's much to say. Our intelligence services have plenty to work on...too much in fact. Looks like it'll take them some time to make any sense of it all".

Joseph's expression became even more downcast, so William thought it was time to spring the surprise.

"Listen, I know you're keen to find a new base of operations and get to work again. The Treasury and the Minister for Commerce have been discussing your situation and they agree it would be mutually beneficial to help get Pendercorp get up and running again. They tell me we have some prime industrial premises at sites on St Helens and Halifax, just waiting for new owners. They're well away from the Alliance border so they're unlikely to be attacked. On top of that, they're throwing in a pretty generous start-up loan, as part of your relocation package. You should be hearing from the planetary governors soon…they'll arrange tours, so you can take a look around and get a feel for the locations".

Pendergrass looked astonished. His face stared back at William from the com unit's viewscreen with a slightly glazed expression. The Regent could see the businessman was running through all the things that restarting his business would entail, in his head.

Sandringham smiled, "No need to thank me just yet. Have a look around and take some time to think it over". His eyes suddenly widened. "Just to sweeten the deal, the Treasury is even willing to negotiate repayment terms, or..." William winked at the screen, "You could offer the BCAF Quartermaster's Office a nice discount on future purchases".

Joseph blinked, clearly overwhelmed at this news. "Uh...thank you. That's an extremely generous offer. I'm sure there won't be any objections, but I'll need to talk it over with my people, to let them know what to expect".

"Oh, speaking of which, we've made temporary arrangements to accommodate your staff at an unoccupied TA base, just outside Westminster. I'm told the facilities are basic, but comfortable. I hope they'll be acceptable until you're ready to relocate".

Pendergrass smiled weakly, as he tried to assimilate the information. "Once again, I'm deeply grateful for your help. I just need some time to brief my employees and figure out how we're going to make this work. Can I get back to your people in a couple of days?"

"Sure, take your time. My PA will send you the contact details of everyone you'll be working with. Speak to you later..."

Sandringham cut the link and reluctantly got back to the business of reading over the latest reports from Wellington governor, Andrew Sutherland and the commander of the Wellington Lancers, Precentor Julian Etherington. They made for painful reading. By some minor miracle there had been very few civilian casualties, although the five deaths and eleven seriously injured were bad enough. Much worse, was the price paid by the Lancers, in their defence of the capital. They had lost fully a third of their nominal combat strength, following the two attacks and Etherington was requesting reinforcements, in anticipation of further raids. Every one of those losses felt like a needle stabbing his heart. Worse, he wasn't sure what reinforcements could be sent, given that any world along the Coalition's Spinward border might be the next target.

Detailed though the reports were, they only told him what had happened…not how, or why, or who might be behind the attacks. After a moment's though, he fired up his desk computer and logged on to the Coalition Interplanetary Information Resource Network, more commonly known as CIRNET, to find out what the news networks and bloggers were saying about the Wellington attacks. Although the State's media services, like its interplanetary transport and other infrastructure, were still very much under development, information had a way of turning up in the public domain, long before the government made any official statements.

It was a sad fact that freelance journalists and amateur bloggers could often turn up more information than the government's own intelligence agencies. Much of it might be wild speculation or even hopelessly inaccurate, but every now and then they could surprise you with some genuinely important information. With a rare couple of hours until his next appointment, he settled back in his chair as he set to the task of finding genuinely useful nuggets among the pages of recycled reportage, conspiracy theories and utter dross.


	8. Curiouser and Curiouser

**_Naval Headquarters,_**

**_Westminster, Britannia,_**

**_Britannic Coalition,_**

**_September 29__th__, 3068_**

Precentor James Brassington had been co-ordinating the Navy's massive operational shift to patrol the Coalition's border worlds for the past week now. However, with insufficient assets to cover them at all times, their faceless enemy was still exploiting holes in their defences and launching further attacks, now striking at worlds in the Caledonia province. With the Regent's stinging rebuke still fresh in his memory, the news reports now reaching Britannia were beginning to make him wonder whether he shouldn't just resign his post.

He was enjoying a brief respite between planning sessions with the rest of the naval operations staff, when a rap on his office door jerked him out of his reverie.

"Enter!" he called, putting his coffee mug down with a sigh.

A junior officer entered, bearing a folder, with a sheaf of paper untidily stuffed inside. Even after a thousand years of computer technology, there was no such thing as a crash-proof or hacker-proof system and so it was that critical information was still frequently stored in hard-copy format. He came to attention and saluted, trying not to spill his notes. Brassington stood to stretch his legs and returned a lacklustre salute of his own.

"At ease, Adept", he said, mentally shaking himself and clearing his head.

"Thank you sir. I'm here for your scheduled briefing on the Wellington situation.

The other man merely nodded assent.

The young officer moved quickly to Brassington's desk and began arranging the various notes he had prepared. "To quickly summarise, the reports coming from Wellington Naval Command give us some reason for optimism, although we must remain cautious, as there is still much we don't know about the invaders. In fact, it'll take longer to cover what we still have to find out, than to go over what we do know, sir", his aide said, somewhat apologetically.

Brassington was in no mood for procrastination. "Just get on with it", he snapped.

"Beaulieu was hit again yesterday, but this time the attack was beaten back before any significant damage was done to the city. A makeshift combined arms force from the Lancers' III Alpha unit intercepted and engaged a large raiding force. Casualties were high on both sides, but they managed to convince the enemy that it was in their best interests to withdraw. In the end, the raiders pulled back with just a handful of mech and armour units. Reconnaissance footage indicates the survivors rendezvoused with a larger force – estimated to be a Level III or equivalent - before making a rapid departure".

"Excellent! I take it our forensic teams are examining whatever we were able to salvage from the battlefield? It should finally give us some solid leads as to who these people are".

"Even as we speak, sir…unfortunately, so far, they have little to report. All the mechs had recognised Alliance unit colors and markings, with no previous paint jobs underneath. No prisoners were taken during the battle and the three bodies we managed to recover had no documents, tattoos or any other forms of ID on them. All we do know is they were wearing the remains of Royalist uniforms. Our techs examined every enemy mech we were able to salvage. In every case, the computers and battlerom recorders had been rendered inoperable - either from combat damage or self-destruct devices. So, while we managed to prevent them seizing any critical assets this time, we may not have hurt them badly enough to stop them trying again. To top it all, we still have very little in the way of solid information and a Division that's down nearly 50% of its effective combat capability, sir".

"Outstanding!" snorted Brassington, with a frustrated sigh. "Keep our analysts, techs and investigators working on it. I want everything we recovered put under a microscope, x-rayed, spectrum-analysed, litmus tested and anything else we can think of. If I'm to formulate an effective defence strategy, I need answers…and soon!"

He sank back into his chair and gave a heavy sigh. "Anything else?"

"Er…yes, sir". The aide paused nervously. "According to unconfirmed reports coming from Nevis, a Jade Falcon Trinary landed two days ago. They dropped a mixed force of battlemechs and armoured infantry just outside Elgin and pardon my hyperbole, tore through the Stirling Highlanders like a bad case of the Werna bug…then they just pulled back to their dropships and left. Best we can tell, seems like it may have been some kind of training exercise. They do apparently like to blood new warriors in this way".

There was a confused silence. From his expression, it was clear that Brassington had no idea what his aide was talking about.

"I'm...not familiar with the term 'Werna bug'", he said, eventually breaking the awkward silence.

"It's a virus, sir. It causes massive evacuation of the entire digestive tract…from both ends".

"I don't think any further description is necessary, thank you. I take it someone has already asked what the devil the Jade Falcons would be doing out in the Periphery, over three hundred light years from their occupation zone?"

"Yes sir. We know they've been making inroads into Lyran territory lately. Its possible they decided to send a deep penetration raid, to test Steiner's defences elsewhere and came across us by accident…they may even think we're part of the Alliance".

Brassington raised an eyebrow, "Interesting theory. So, the Highlanders are saying they think the Falcons were just taking the opportunity to sharpen their claws?"

"Yes sir, a test of strength if you like, combined with reconnaissance…if it was them, that is".

"That's a bloody big if. If it was Clanners, I'll eat my damn uniform and parade though Chiswick Park stark naked".

By an incredible act of sheer willpower, the aide managed to keep his face impassive. "Er, yes sir. Anyway, whoever it was, they managed to capture a number of Highlander pilots and a small amount of salvage…presumably to gather intel on our defensive capabilities. We also found some of our downed mechs were missing their main and battle computers".

The Precentor looked perplexed. "Why the hell would they want those?" he wondered aloud.

"Our best guess is that they wanted to go through our IFF procedures and mech identification files to find out more about the sort of units we're deploying", the young Adept replied.

Brassington nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense, but what worries me is why they would want to do such a thing…"

"Well, sir, there is one obvious answer, but our team are working on other possible scenarios".

The aide paused and waited to see if his superior had anything else to add. When Brassington continued to stare thoughtfully out of the window, the young officer decided this was a good time to conclude the briefing.

"If that's all, sir, I'll be going…"

Brassington nodded again, without speaking and the Adept made a hasty exit.

Brassington's stomach gave an uneasy lurch. The last thing the Coalition needed was the Clans blooding their warriors against the BCAF's still-green border units. He shook his head and dismissed the idea. It was so outlandish as to be positively ridiculous. Probably someone had misheard a panicked radio transmission or misunderstood a signal. Still, it was just one more reminder that the Navy's efforts to secure the Coalition's borders were still falling short.

Picking up his coffee again, he frowned. It just didn't make sense. Why would anyone – let alone the Clans - choose to run a mere training exercise this far from their territory? There were pieces missing from this puzzle…but for the life of him he couldn't figure out what they were.

'_Whoever it is, if they're after intel, this wasn't just a smash and grab raid'_, the Precentor mused as he put his empty mug down and stood to return to the latest planning session. He put these questions to the back of his mind as he tried to focus on his next meeting.


	9. Further Complications

**_Dorchester Plains,__  
Wellington,__  
Britannic Coalition,  
September 31__st_**_**, 3068**  
_  
Precentor Julian Etherington, commander of the BCAF 92nd Division, more commonly known as the Wellington Lancers, surveyed the scene. Around him was the aftermath of a brief, but brutal skirmish that had occurred inside a wide, shallow valley. The once lush, green ground had been reduced to a churned and blasted stretch of mud and rock. The remnants of a _Black Knight_, two_ Ostrocs_ and a pair of light mechs whose design was completely unknown to him, lay scattered within a few hundred metres of each other. The still-burning hulks of several tanks filled the valley with dense, acrid smoke that made his eyes water and throat burn. They were recognisable as models used by the Coalition…as well as just about every other faction in the Inner Sphere, but he had to check with his unit commanders to tell whether they were once Lancer vehicles.

He shook his head: the combination of mechs made no sense whatsoever. The force composition was so haphazard it put him in mind of a pirate unit…except no pirate bands he knew of, had access to the kinds of tech they were recovering. His gaze strayed to a more-or-less intact _Exterminator,_ which stood, powered down, among the wreckage. Its paint scheme and markings were also a complete mystery to him.

'_Where the hell did they get one of those?'_ he asked himself silently.

Also nearby was a heavily damaged _Blackjack_, savagely scarred and venting vapourised coolant from its overworked heat sinks, but more or less operational. Parked nearby were a _Shadow Hawk_ and a _Wyvern_, neither mech in much better shape. Further down the winding valley, he could see twin palls of black smoke where a _Clint_ and a _Chameleon_, which made up the remainder of scout unit II Epsilon, had met their end.

It was hard to believe nearly an hour had passed since the initial reports had come in from the outlying observer units, reporting an enemy raiding force south east of the capital, making its way north towards the industrial sector. He'd passed own the order to investigate the sighting and a Level II scout unit from III Alpha had been duly dispatched to gather more intel and if possible, engage them. After their recent experiences, he would have ordered a recon in force, but the Lancers simply didn't have the mechs to spare after the previous two engagements against the mysterious attackers. They were down to under 60% nominal combat strength and although most of the mechs were still functional, both they and their pilots were ill prepared to fight another major battle.

The guilt weighed heavily on him, even though he knew he should know better. Standing by with two heavy Level IIs from III Alpha, Etherington had been ready to step into the fight, at the first sign his troops were in trouble. Not wanting to tread on the toes of his unit commanders, he'd waited, on edge, for the signal to engage. Instead, after a tense half-hour wait, word had finally come that the enemy had been utterly destroyed. From the looks of his men and their machines, it had been an extremely hard fought battle, which had nearly cost them an experienced officer, as well as a pair of mechs. For the moment, he listened intently as the officer gave his report.

"Sir, we were very nearly forced to withdraw. We were able to take down their smaller units easily enough, but then they brought their big guns to the party. It turned into a real slugging match and when I saw that _Exterminator_ come into the rock formation, I thought for sure that our number was up".

Allowing his gaze to rove once more over the powered-down heavy mech and then the Adept's battered _Blackjack,_ Etherington asked, "How on earth did you manage to take it down, Blythe?" his tone conveying both admiration and astonishment.

Adept Gabriel Blythe grinned sheepishly. "Basically, sir, we did it by being sneaky bastards. Carlyle and I pulled back through the rock formation, to lure him after us. Meanwhile, I ordered Jeffries and Fairbrother to run round the flanks and come in behind him. Not wanting to expose his rear armour, he twisted side-on, which also allowed him to shoot at all four of us at once. While the other two provided harassing fire, Carlyle and I managed to obliterate most of his left torso armour. My ACs eventually cored right through his armour and Carlyle was able to get a clear shot on the same location…though not before the bugger took down Jeffries and Fairbrother. Luckily they were both able to eject safely".

The Precentor gave a slight shake of his head in admiration at the audacity of the plan.

"Aye, sir", piped up Initiate Carlyle, "I put a full flight of SRMs straight into the bastard's left flank".

"I'm guessing Sean here", said Blythe, jerking a thumb in Carlyle's direction, "scored an engine hit, because it powered down right after that volley. I only found out afterwards that we'd bagged him, because the bugger caught me with a gyro hit and I went down at the same time."

Gabriel nodded towards the still-smoking _Blackjack_. "Still, sir, I managed to get the old girl back on her feet", he said proudly.

"That was some sound tactical thinking, Adept Blythe". Etherington turned towards Carlyle, "Nice teamwork finishing off the intruder too…that's a textbook example of how a second should back up his leader".

"Thank you sir", the Mechwarrior said, beaming with pride, despite being shaken by the battle.

"I'll stop by the sickbay on the way back to speak to Jeffries and Fairbrother. If you see them first, please pass on my commendation. Carry on", said Etherington, nodding at the two mechwarriors.

"Aye, sir!" Both pilots gave snappy salutes and returned to their heavily damaged mechs.

Etherington turned to greet a newcomer, who turned out to be the recovery team leader. "Have you been able to learn anything from the salvage yet? Precentor Commander Jackson has been breathing down my neck for some solid intel on our attackers, for a while now. I would very much like to have some useful info to pass on in my next briefing report".

The technician Adept saluted before beginning, "Sir, we found something very interesting with the enemy mechs…they appear to have been painted recently".

"And that is interesting…how?"

"Sir, there is an older paint job underneath. What your troops saw during the fighting were mechs with no recognisable markings. What my men are finding is that these battlemechs were originally painted in Outer Colonies Defense Force colors. The old paint jobs are visible in some places where the outer layers have been burned off".

"Are you telling me that my men just fought and destroyed an OCDF unit? Do you have any idea what kind of ramifications this could have?" The Lancers' commander glared, ashen-faced at the recovery team leader.

"Sir I…I'm just telling you what we found".

Etherington screwed his eyes shut and forced himself to take several deep, steadying breaths. It made no sense at all for the Outer Colonies to launch an attack on the Coalition. In fact, the very idea was so bizarre as to suggest this might be the work of some rogue organisation, attempting to ignite a conflict between the two states.

"Okay, what else did you find?"

The technician paused, looking slightly uncomfortable at having to deliver more bad news. "Nothing…all the mechs' master and battle computers have been destroyed or wiped. It also appears that all the enemy pilots ejected and were recovered".

Etherington cursed to himself, but then had another thought. _'Nobody gets away that cleanly from a battle. This had to be planned…they had to have backup and a pre-set withdrawal plan'._

"It's a set-up…the bastards are trying to set us up!"

"Excuse me, sir?"

Julian looked around and realised the Adept technician was still staring at him, an anxious expression on his face.

"Oh, nothing…return to your duties".

"Aye sir!" The man snapped off a salute and hurried back to organising the salvage detail.

Etherington sighed. He knew that when he reported this to Command, Precentor Commander Jackson would have a fit. Not only had his men apparently engaged and destroyed an Outer Colonies' force, but this new information meant the reported Jade Falcon attack on Nevis was, in all likelihood, a case of mistaken identity.

* * *

**_Office of the Regent,  
Blenheim Palace,  
__Westminster, Britannia,  
Britannic Coalition_**

Sandringham stared wearily at the holoviewer screen. It had been a long day and it seemed things were only getting worse.

_"This is Katie Noggins with Channel 12 News. I'm joining you live at the scene of a major riot in the capital of Wellington. After news of Outer Colonies mechs, disguised as pirate raiders, got out earlier this evening, demonstrators began gathering around the planetary capitol building, demanding that the government do something to stop these unwarranted attacks on Coalition soil"._

She turned to a nearby demonstrator and thrust her microphone in his face. _"Sir, can you explain to me just exactly what it is you hope to accomplish?"  
_  
The protester glared over her shoulder at the camera. _"This is the third time we've been attacked in less than two weeks. What we're hearing is that the last attack was carried out by mechs wearing Outer Colonies colors. Other rumours say it's the Royalist Alliance and now we're hearing from Nevis that they're under attack from the bloody Clans! I don't know what the government, the Alliance or the Outer Colonies are thinking, but we're sure as hell thinking that this needs to stop right now! We're thinking our government and our military need to get off their butts and do something!"  
_  
The shouts of agreement from the crowd behind him became louder and the growing agitation was almost tangible.

_"We don't care who these raiders are, they're destroying our homes and stealing our property! Our government should be taking action to protect us from further attacks! We want to know why nobody seems to be doing anything about it! We should be fighting back…not just suffering in silence!" _

Katie nodded soberly and moved the mike back to her mouth. _"Thank you. For those of you just joining us, I'm at the scene of…Holy Sh…!"  
_  
The image on the screen dissolved into static, but over the audio feed, screaming, gunshots and the sound of breaking glass could be heard.

The screen went blank for several seconds that seemed to stretch into minutes and then the sound was abruptly cut off. A banner came up, which read:

WE ARE CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES – PLEASE STAND BY

The picture then cut back to the studio and the worried, confused anchorman. He was looking at the video wall behind him and listening intently into his earpiece.

_"Katie…hello, can you hear me?_

When it became apparent there was going to be no reply, he stared back into the camera.

"_Uh, this is David Coll, live in the studio. We seem to have lost our feed to the scene of a riot in the capital, where it appears that over a thousand people have gathered to protest at the planetary government's lack of action to counter the attacks on their world. It appears some believe the Royalist Alliance to be responsible, with others blaming the Clans for the incursions, while still others attribute the raids to Outer Colonies' military forces. It appears that police have just begun breaking up the riot, although many rioters are resisting, throwing bricks, rocks and even petrol bombs". _

The newscaster paused in his summary and pressed his earpiece into his ear again.

"_Ah, we've just received word that Katie and our news crew are unharmed and that the riot is being dispersed with tear gas as we speak. We'll return with more live coverage after this short break for a word from our sponsors".  
_

Sandringham stared at the screen, unseeing as a five-minute stream of ads flashed up on the screen. He was jerked back to reality as the news programme came back.

_"This is David Coll, for Channel 12 News. Just moments ago, police began dispersing a riot downtown in the capitol where protestors…"  
_

Sandringham raised the remote and shut off the anchorman's voice with a push of a button. Listening to summaries of news he'd already heard wouldn't help solve the problem. _'I think its time for an Emergency Council session...'_ he thought, getting to his feet.


	10. Leaving Dodge

**_Outer Colonies' Embassy,  
Westminster, Britannia,  
Britannic Coalition, The Periphery,  
1__st__ October 3068_**

"Madam Ambassador, I must ask you to step away from the window!" Captain Joseph Chapman of the SAS was dressed in full combat kit as he walked into the ambassador's residence, followed closely by the rest of his squad. "Someone out there might be packing something nastier than a brick and I really don't want to have to file the mountain of paperwork a dead Ambassador generates".

"Now really, Captain". Mary Rolland, official representative of the Outer Colonies, looked round, "I'm sure this matter will be sorted out soon enough..."

"Not my department, ma'am. I'm just the head of your protection detail and a bloody small one at that. Two platoons of troops, two armoured cars and a pair of VTOLs aren't going to be much help. I've already ordered the implementation of the Cole Protocol. All our navigation and communication equipment has been destroyed and the data erased".

"That may be a little premature..." said Rolland, sounding slightly flustered.

Chapman held back a sigh of frustration. "Madam Ambassador, our nation has been framed for an unprovoked attack on a supposed ally. It's only a matter of time before the Regent has to act to placate the people, or they'll take matters into their own hands. Now I don't pretend to know what's going on - that's well above my pay grade, but if the shit hits the fan, your diplomatic status isn't going to be worth the paper it's written on!"

"Very well…what do you suggest?"

"There is a Crimson class covert operations Corvette at the system's Zenith jump point. If we can get there, we have a chance to get out of here in one piece. There's a Hark Corporation DropShip at the spaceport and they've agreed to take us if we can get them out of the Coalition".

"May I ask you a professional question, Captain?" Ambassador Rolland looked at Chapman.

"Ma'am?" the young captain replied, raising an eyebrow.

"What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know ma'am…I just don't know. We've had no word from home for almost a month. If I were a betting man, I'd say that someone's trying to start a war. Neither the Royalist Alliance or Britannic Coalition pose a serious military threat to us. They can, however, cut us off from the Inner Sphere".

"We have been that way before and if need be, we can survive alone again. History teaches us that wars come and go…it is the natural order of such things. All that matters is that we survive, that what we represent survives..."

A whistling sound filled the air and Chapman's eyes went wide with terror.

"DOWN, DOWN, DOWN!" he yelled, as he tackled the Ambassador, knocking her to the ground just moments before the office windows were blown in by a large explosion in the Embassy grounds.

The sound of sporadic gunfire came from outside, which was soon answered by sniper fire from the troops on the roof.

"Madam Ambassador…" Chapman stood, dragging the shocked Rolland to her feet. "We are leaving…NOW!"

The hover limo raced down the highway towards the spaceport, the escorting _Saxon_ armoured cars and VTOLs bristling with weapons. Nervous eyes scanned the horizon and a myriad of monitors for any sign of further trouble.

The attack on the embassy had been easily beaten back with the minimal of force, but it had become clear that their position was untenable and Ambassador Rolland had reluctantly agreed to Captain Chapman's plan. Loading the embassy's sensitive material and equipment into every available vehicle, the impromptu convoy had headed out of the gates just as the planetary militia arrived.

Not even slowing down, the lead armoured car smashed through the flimsy police roadblock, clearing the way for the others. The two LMP-1A _Lamprey_ transport helicopters had dropped smoke charges behind them, discouraging what remained of the crowd from trying anything.

The highway was thankfully almost deserted, allowing the convoy to make good time to the spaceport. They were held up only by the relatively low top speed of the armoured cars. The metal barrier barring entrance to the spaceport snapped when hit by the first armoured car and the collection of hover and wheeled vehicles sped out onto the tarmac road that led to the huge, bowl-shaped ferrocrete launch pads.

"The dropship's two clicks away!" Chapman yelled to be heard over the engine. "The pilot has the engines fired up and is ready to launch as soon as we're aboard".

"That may not be enough!"

Ambassador Rolland pointed across the landing field. Following her arm, Chapman saw a pair of light mechs, from the spaceport garrison, moving to intercept the limo. The two _Jenners_ looked as though they'd seen more than their fair share of action, but they were moving quickly enough and he had no doubt their weapons worked just fine.

Using their mech's external broadcast system, one of the pilots ordered them to halt. "Attention convoy! The spaceport is currently off limits to all traffic. Reverse course immediately or you will be arrested and detained for questioning".

The mechwarrior added an edge to his tone for his final sentence. "We have orders to open fire on anyone resisting arrest".

"Shit!" Chapman grabbed the radio, "Helo 1 and 2, I want those Jenners kept busy. Don't destroy them unless you have to, but keep them away from the civilians and the dropship".

"Roger!" the lead pilot responded. The two _Lampreys_ peeled off from their station above the convoy and sped towards the approaching battlemechs.

Short-range missiles leapt from the VTOLs' launch rails and flew towards the _Jenners_, detonating just before reaching their targets, producing a bright flash and loud concussive bang. The missiles where designed as a defensive measure, and were of limited effectiveness against 'mechs.

Still, one _Jenner_ staggered and fell, its pilot disorientated. It hit the ground with an earth-shaking thud. Its companion ignored the missiles and continued, firing its medium laser at the VTOLs, almost hitting one of them. Reloading their racks with offensive missiles, the _Lampreys_ opened up with their chain-guns, the heavy bullets picking away at the armour protecting the light mech's legs and torso.

The second flight of missiles struck the _Jenner_ on the chest and arms, blasting jagged holes in its armour. Smoke began to billow from a damaged heat sink as its pilot tried to return fire.

The hover limo rounded the last obstacle and began its run towards the waiting dropship, quickly passing into the protection of the transport's guns. Chapman was surprised to see that it was a _Newcastle_ class military transport, the same type used by the OCDF. He had no time to ponder the implications as the limo roared up the ramp and into the cavernous cargo bay, followed closely by the other vehicles.

Breaking off from their attack on the remaining _Jenner_, the two _Lampreys_ landed as close as they could to the dropship, their crews abandoning their rides as they ran for the safety of the transport.

As soon as the last soldiers were aboard, the dropship's pilot throttled up the engines to lift-off power and it slowly rose from the launch pad, the wash from its engines lifting the abandoned VTOLs and tossing them across the field like toys. Burning hard and rapidly gathering speed, the dropship headed skyward and the supposed safety of the awaiting Corvette.

They were still in the dropship's cargo bay and had not even had time to exit the vehicle when a knock on the limo's blacked-out window startled Chapman. However, it was nothing compared to the shock he got when he opened the door.

"Hello Anna", he managed, with difficulty swallowing down the lump in his throat.

"It's good to see you again, Joseph". Anna Hark, CEO of the Hark Corporation, smiled warmly at him. Shifting her gaze slightly to look behind him, she added, "Welcome abroad the Green Dragon, Madam Ambassador".

* * *

**_DropShip _Green Dragon,_  
Outbound, Britannia,  
Britannic Coalition,  
The Periphery_**

"You never told me you know Anna Hark". Ambassador Rolland gazed incredulously at Chapman. "Most people would brag about having such a powerful and influential…friend?" she hazarded, finishing off the sentence as a question.

"It's personal". Chapman sat his coffee down on the mess table. "It's not something I like to talk about".

"That may be, but you are head of my protective detail and I feel it is something I should know".

"It's, complicated..."

"The best stories often are".

"We served together, in the 22nd Rifles. Most people tend to forget that, despite her more than privileged upbringing, Anna decided to put herself through collage on a military scholarship. She's smart and rich enough to get in, but she wanted to make her own way, to prove something to herself as much as anything else. And by smart, I mean genius…she got a double first in law and business in half the time it would take most people, then spent four years as a 2nd Lieutenant. Again, she could have gone for a desk job, maybe JAG, but she wanted to get her hands dirty in the field. And she never begged off an assignment, no matter how menial".

"So how did you meet?"

"She was in Third battalion, I was in Second. We met in the Officers' Mess one night…got talking about an exercise we had coming up and ended up hitting it off. We were friends at first, but things got more intense after a while, and we started dating".

"A lot of men would envy you".

"A lot did. I used to get a lot of stick, people saying that I was only after her money. But I never saw Anna like that…she's got this, presence that makes her stand out, no matter what crowd she's in. You get close to her and you get swept up in it all, like nothing else matters".

"Sounds to me like you were in love with her".

"Oh, I loved her alright…probably still do".

"Then what happened?"

"She reached the end of her kick and her father's health was starting to fail, so she needed to go and take care of the business…being the only child and heiress etc. She asked me to leave with her, but I was going up for selection. I'm third generation SAS…there's nothing else I've ever wanted to do".

"So you turned her down?"

"Hardest decision I've ever made".

"Do you regret it?"

"Every day. I almost asked her to marry me at one point..."

"Would it have made a difference if I'd said yes?"

The new voice made Chapman jump out of his seat, banging his knees against the metal table. He looked round in surprise to see Anna Hark standing there, dressed in an emerald green suit with golden dragons running along the sleeves.

"Anna..." Chapman blinked, "I didn't know you were there..."

"I know". Hark nodded, her head tilted slightly to the side. "People very rarely speak their minds when they know you are listening".

"I'm sorry if I said anything to embarrass you..."

"Ask me…" Hark looked him directly in the eye. Hers glistened with tears.

"Ask you what?" Joseph looked confused.

"Ask me now what you wanted to ask me then".

Joseph could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Will you marry me?" he managed, feeling like he was going to choke on his own words.

"Yes…yes I will", Hark nodded, tears starting to run down her cheeks.


	11. Strengthening Ties

**_Command Bunker, Blenheim Palace,  
Westminster, Britannia,  
Britannic Coalition,  
01 October, 3068_**

Regent Sandringham, Prime Minister Charles Cameron, Precentor Commander Robert Jackson, Home Secretary Deborah Fox and Chancellor Duncan Mackenzie sat in their designated chairs around the hi-tech conference table. In front of each was a keyboard and monitor. Currently, their monitors all displayed the faces of Prince Maxwell D'Avion, ruler of the Royalist Alliance, his Chiefs of Staff and Foreign Secretary.

Sandringham stared intently at his screen. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this Max, but I need to hear it straight from you…is the Alliance involved in any of these strikes against the Coalition?"

D'Avion's face stared back at him, looking every bit as haggard and strained as he felt. "I know you had to ask Will", he said, nodding sadly in understanding. "As you're aware, there are rogue elements in the Alliance military. General Preston here will vouch for me when I say that we are doing our best to identify and apprehend these rebels, but it is taking time. However, I can assure you that neither I, nor my chiefs of staff, have authorised any Alliance units to take action against the Coalition".

William closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "So you're saying that its possible renegade Alliance units may be conducting strikes against us off their own bat?"

D'Avion spread his hands helplessly. "Its possible, of course…but for the life of me I cannot think why they would do so".

"I concur that it doesn't make any sense, either militarily, or financially", said the Alliance general. "If what you've said is true, then your attackers don't seem interested in targets of any economic value. The only reason I can see, for any renegade Alliance units attacking your worlds, would be if there was some kind of profit in it".

"I sincerely hope this won't sour relations between us", said D'Avion, who seemed keen to end the meeting on a high note. "Despite the problems we are currently experiencing within the Alliance armed forces, the majority of units do remain loyal to House D'Avion and will comply with any orders from the Defence Department".

That perked up the interest of both Sandringham and Precentor Jackson.

"Your Highness…General", began Jackson. "Our front line units have taken quite a hammering over the last couple of weeks. Do you have any reliable units that could be spared to help shore up our defences along the Albion and Caledonian borders?"

Maxwell turned to his general, who frowned in thought. "Although we have had no contact with Black Isle since the…incident…the First Kamchatkan Ice Devils, based on Novo Muscova, are still loyal and should be able to reach you within a week", the tall, thin, dark-haired officer said. "With your permission, your Highness, I will have new orders drafted immediately, detailing them to make preparations for immediate assignment to the Coalition".

The Prince nodded approval. "It's the least we can do after your assistance with the pirates".

"Your assistance is greatly appreciated, Your Highness", said Jackson. "We realise that you face formidable problems in your own realm. We take the fact that you are still willing to aid us as a sign that relations between out states may yet be fully restored".

D'Avion gave a weary smile. "If there is anything we can do to put these recent events behind us and strengthen our ties, then I am only too happy to oblige".

The general indicated with a glance at his liege that he wished to speak. "You appear to be facing a most unusual threat. My top strategists will stay in contact with the Ice Devils. Between them I am sure they will devise a way to beat these invaders".

"Any suggestions you have on that score would be most welcome. Whoever the aggressors are, they have beaten my forces, or at least inflicted heavy casualties at every turn. At the moment all we can do is blunt their attacks...we cannot stop them."

The General seated beside the Prince nodded soberly. "Have no fear - we will find a way. Every opponent has a weakness that can be exploited".

Sandringham concluded the conversation. "Once again, you have our sincere thanks, Maxwell. He looked across the table at Jackson. "I'm sure the Precentor Commander and his staff are looking forward to working with your people". D'Avion and Jackson traded nods and smiles.

The Royalist General was the next to speak. "We look forward to working with you too. Without wishing to trivialise your problem, I think this will prove to be a most interesting challenge". He nodded again in farewell. "The next contact you receive from us will be when the Regiment arrives in-system. A liaison officer will be appointed to handle contact between you and the Ice Devils".

With that the screens went blank momentarily, before displaying the Coalition insignia and the com system's menu.

The stare the Chancellor gave across the table at Sandringham was almost reproachful. "You do realise that the cost of this increased military action is going to just about bankrupt us? Our own armament factories are already at full capacity and we've increased our imports almost monthly to keep our troops equipped. At this rate the economy is going to go into meltdown!"

"He does have a point, Regent", added Secretary Fox. "We simply don't have the resources to fight a prolonged campaign. Has anyone thought about trying to negotiate with these people?"

Jackson held up a hand to pre-empt William's reply. "Tell me Secretary, how many military actions have you been involved in?" he asked scathingly, directing a gaze at Fox that could melt steel plate. "Have you seen what these…_barbarians_ are doing to our troops, our towns and cities?"

"I've seen reports…" began the Secretary of State indignantly.

"Oh, you've seen _reports_", hissed Jackson contemptuously. "Well, _excuse_ me…"

He took a moment to rein in his anger before continuing. "I've _been_ to Dorchester…I've seen firsthand what those raiders did…the death and destruction. I've listened to accounts from survivors, both civilian and military and what really struck me was the _manner_ in which they attacked. Swift, brutal…no quarter asked or given…"

He let his gaze take in the whole table. "Please believe me when I say that people who act in this way are _not_ open to negotiation…"

There was a moment's silence as everyone present stopped to absorb that fact.

"Well, I suppose we're just going to have to work on expanding our export network, if we're to stop our economy going under", said Mackenzie, suitably chastened.

"I'm sure the Regent and the other governors will do everything in their power to help you balance the books", said the Prime Minister quietly. "If the security of the Coalition is at stake, it is in everyone's interest to pull together. I am sure we will all have to make sacrifices of one kind or another before this is over…"

Just then they heard a commotion outside the door. There was some muffled conversation, which changed to raised voices, which was then followed by thumps and shouting...and then silence. A few moments later, Ariel Reya, an officer in the Coyote Cavaliers' mercenary detachment, walked into the room, straightening her uniform and smoothing down her shoulder length, raven hair.

"Leftenant Reya – this is a Sceptre level government meeting!" said Jackson, exasperation evident in his voice. "No-one is permitted to just waltz in here…that's why we have guards on the doors!"

Reya regarded him coolly. "Not even to inform you that Colonel Nuyriev has negotiated the termination of our contract with the Alliance and is even now preparing to transfer the rest of the Cavaliers to the Coalition?"

The mercenary allowed herself a rare smile as she took in the bemused expressions of those seated around the conference table.

"But...I did not authorise any such transfer! When…why…?" stuttered Jackson as he tried to make sense of this latest development.

"The Colonel informed me he will be arriving from Rostock, with the rest of the unit, within two weeks and that he would like to meet with you, sir, to discuss how to deal with this threat".

The Precentor Commander's face was a picture of confusion for several moments, before he regained his composure. "You may tell the Colonel I would be happy to meet him and will advise him of the next window in my schedule very shortly".

Reya's smile widened just a fraction, "Already done, sir. Will there be anything else?"

Jackson shook his head. "No, I think you've done quite enough for one day, Leftenant." He waved the mercenary officer away irritably, although his displeasure was tempered with a measure of relief.

"By the way, you may want to consider upgrading the guard detail, sir. I barely had to break a sweat before they let me past", Reya called over her shoulder, as she left.

He sighed as the door closed behind her. These mercenaries were a law unto themselves. They had never actually broken a contract, as far as he knew, but they did have an unusual career history. He wondered why Colonel Nuyriev would terminate a lucrative contract with the Alliance, to work on what was likely to be a _pro bono_ basis for the Coalition. Mercs were normally predictable. They went where the money was and followed contracts to the letter…and that was just the good ones. They were not given to charity work, aside from the odd mercy mission to boost their MRBC ratings.

'_What the hell are they playing at?'_ he wondered.

Not that he was complaining, but there was definitely something that needed investigating here. He made a mental note to contact the Mercenary Review and Bonding Commission on Outreach and request a deep background check on the Cavaliers. It probably wouldn't turn up anything new, but it was worth a shot.

"Robert?" asked Sandringham, with a raised eyebrow.

"What...oh...the Coyote Cavaliers amount to roughly a reinforced battalion at full strength". He stopped as he got a number of blank looks from around the table. "In our terms, that's a Level III, plus a command Level II. They also have small infantry and aerospace contingents. Their Bravo Company travelled with the Britannia Guards to deal with the pirates. Leftenant Reya is a unit commander in Bravo Company, but had to remain here, as she picked up an injury in training, just before they left".

The last sentence received looks of understanding from the others.

"Looks like she's made a full and complete recovery, wouldn't you say?" asked Sandringham, with a wink and a smile.

"I'll say", said Jackson, grimacing. "I think the Palace Guards are going to need their training regime toughened up".

"I hope those mercs don't mind doing charity work", observed Mackenzie sourly, "Because the Defence Ministry's coffers will be empty in another month at the current rate of expenditure".

"Captain Jerricho knows the situation we're in. I'm sure she will explain things to the Colonel".

Sandringham stood up abruptly, catching the others off guard.

"Where are you going, Will?" asked Cameron.

"We, Charles, are going to address the nation".

"With respect, sir - are you mad?" exclaimed the Prime Minister.

"Aye sir, makin' public appearances wouldnae be a great idea, right now. You've seen the holovid reports...it's close to anarchy out there", said MacKenzie, shaking his head.

Sandringham drew himself up in his best regal pose, "Which is precisely why we have to go out there and try to help restore order. The people need reassurance…they need to know that someone is in control of the situation".

"The police are already seeing to that", interjected Fox.

"Tear gas and rubber bullets won't solve the problem. Yes, they'll make people run and stop them rioting, but it will do nothing to restore calm or give them hope. We have to get out there and tell them we are taking action!"

He hit a button on one of the table's com units and the face of his PA came up on screen. "Deborah, contact all the main news agencies and tell them to have cameras and reporters in Victoria Park in fifteen minutes".

"Yes, sir", she replied, managing to somehow look puzzled, worried and relieved all at the same time.

"And contact the head of my security detail. As much as I trust our people, I'd feel better having them along for the ride…just in case".


	12. Rising Tensions

**_Warrington,_**

**_St Helens, Britannic Coalition,_**

**_The Periphery,  
October 2__nd__, 3068 _**

You could cut the atmosphere with a vibroblade. In the city centre, normal activity had all but stopped as people clustered around the public viewing screens, used to broadcast news, advertisements and public service announcements. For some time now, the news had been grim. They huddled together in groups, talking in low voices to each other as they listened to the newscasts. Hard facts were sparse and rumors were running rampant about invaders from the Outer Colonies, the Royalist Alliance and the Clans, as well as reprisals by the Coalition. Among the more lurid headlines were:

_Outer Colonies Invasion Imminent!_

_OC Embassy on Britannia Targeted by BCAF in Retaliatory Strike!_

_Fighting in the Streets Between OC Forces and BCAF in Westminster!_

_Royalist Alliance Force Smashes Second Lancers on Wellington!_

_Stirling Highlanders Clash with Clan Raiders!  
_  
And on it went…the reportage getting ever more feverish, the longer the lack of solid evidence went on.

It wasn't just happening on St Helens either. Citizens throughout the Coalition were desperate for information. Newspapers sold out as soon as they hit the stands, the public information screens in the town and city plazas always had crowds around them, news websites were crashing from the sheer volume of traffic and the ratings for the all-day news channels hit an all-time high. Wherever one went, whether to the local high-class restaurant or the neighbourhood convenience store, people everywhere were discussing the same thing. The questions were always the same: _What's going on? Who's attacking us? Why are we being targeted? What is the government doing? When will it stop?_ The answers though, were many and varied.

The citizens of the Coalition were more sensitive to these sort of events than most; this sort of thing was exactly what they had tried to get away from, the reason they had fled Terra in the first place. Many did their best to ignore it, while others publicly vented the fear they all felt. For some of the younger generation though, this was a new, exciting and only slightly worrying, development in their less-than-exciting patch of the Periphery.

For Joseph Pendergrass, this kind of unwelcome attention was what he had spent most of his adult life trying to avoid. After fleeing the Inner Sphere and settling in the Periphery he had managed to do so successfully…until the Black Isle incident. Since then, things had been going on a rapid downward spiral.

Until now…On this, the first day of October 3068, Pendergrass arrived in Warrington, to officially take possession of the new factory complex, which would become the new home of Pendercorp. He was excited about starting anew and was anxious to rebuild his battlemech production business. His employees had been relocated from Britannia, and most of the machine tools and other, more specialised production equipment had been brought over on the _Minstrel's_ dropships. The jumpship itself was still undergoing repairs at the Cygnus naval yard and wouldn't be spaceworthy for some time. In just a few more weeks, however, battlemechs would begin rolling off the assembly lines and he would be back in business.

Still, news of the continuing attacks on Wellington, Britannia and Nevis had only served to dredge up still-painful memories of the Black Isle incident. That was where it had all started and now trouble had followed him here. It seemed Lady Luck, karma, or whatever, was not content to give him rest from the strife he had known for so long in the Inner Sphere.  
Until he could secure a permanent place of residence, Joseph was having to check into a hotel in the centre of Warrington. That was currently his first order of business. He had left one of his senior employees - the former security chief of the Black Isle facility - to supervise the transfer of equipment from the dropships to the new factory and its installation. Pendergrass would visit the factory and carry out a final inspection, before authorising production to start, but for now, he had time to search the city for a new home.

As the CEO walked the streets in search of a real estate agent, he came across one of the crowded public viewing screens, as it was giving a news report.

_"…in recent developments, the city of Westminster, Britannia has been in uproar since the attack on the city's main spaceport last week. There have been regular clashes between rioters and police, with rioters demanding that the government do something to end the continuing attacks by an enemy which, in spite of mounting speculation, still remains faceless and nameless..."  
_  
The screen then showed a protester in the streets of Westminster, now littered with all manner of debris…

_"We left Terra to get away from war and oppression!"_ The bloodied and dishevelled man shouted. _"And now we are under attack from pirates, the Alliance, Outer Colonies, or whoever they damn well are and the government is doing absolutely NOTHING about it!"  
_  
The screen then showed the newscaster again…

_"Today, there was a mostly peaceful march of over 1,000 protesters through the streets of Westminster, making their way to the Regent's Palace, awaiting his public appearance and address to the state, which we will carry for you live, a little under 2 hours from now."  
_  
As Joseph listened discreetly from the edge of the crowd, he heard the whispers and low voices become angrier. _'Rumors, rumors, rumors'_, he thought. _'I hope the Regent gives these people some answers…some measure of hope. Maybe with some reassurance, they would spend less time rioting and organising protest marches and devote more effort to uniting against their common enemy'_.

Some louder voices rose from the hubbub, echoing the sentiments of the protestor on the screen. Others expressed relief that the Regent was finally going to address the nation. The general theme was along the lines of: _What will he say? Will he issue a formal declaration of war and, if so, against whom? What measures will he take to ensure our safety?  
_  
The CEO continued his musings as he walked away. With so much speculation flying around unchecked, it was about time the Regent finally injected some calm and common sense into all this frenzied speculation. As he continued his search, Pendergrass sensed the mood in the city lighten, as people temporarily forgot about the ongoing threat, to get on with their daily lives. It never strayed far from their thoughts, however, judging from the frenetic buzz that seemed to be everywhere. Anticipation, it seemed, was the order of the day.

* * *

**_Westminster,  
Britannia, Britannic Coalition,  
The Periphery,_**

**_2__nd__ October 3068_**

"Would someone care to remind me why I signed up for this job?" said Adept Tristan Lawrence quietly, as the motorcade made its way through the debris-littered streets. Between the wreckage left behind by yesterday's riots and the circuitous route, necessitated by the placard-waving crowds today, the short, ten minute drive from the palace to Victoria Square was taking almost twice as long.

"Relax, Stan, they don't look like they want any trouble today", said William from the back seat of the custom-built, armoured limousine, in which they were travelling. The Regent's personal car was sandwiched in between a pair of APCs carrying two platoons of militia troops and a pair of scout cars at the front and rear of the column, which carried the rest of the Regent's security detail.

The Westminster police had cordoned off the route and the front of the town hall in advance, preventing the gathered crowd from getting too close to the convoy. Sandringham had been against the idea of taking so much military hardware into a public place, until his chief of security had pointed out the very real threat of an attack on the capital, against which he needed some kind of protection, while he was in the open and vulnerable.

"With all due respect, sir, that can change very quickly", Lawrence replied as his eyes scanned the crowd for any hint of danger. The Regent was not the first high-profile dignitary he'd been assigned to protect and he'd had peaceful situations go bad before, which was why he was leaving nothing to chance now.

The lead scout car slowly followed a pair of police vehicles, which had all their lights blazing and eventually the column exited Westminster's main thoroughfare and rolled into Victoria Square. Sandringham was surprised to find that the news crews had beat them to it and were already beginning to set up their equipment. The column came to a halt in front of city hall and the security guards jumped out of the armoured cars to set up a secure perimeter. William was met by one of the network representatives at the top of the wide marble staircase, which led up to the main entrance, where a lectern had been hastily set up.

"Martyn Davies of the CBC, sir", he said, keeping a respectful distance from his head of state".

William, unsure of the proper protocols for a situation like this, stepped forward and offered his hand, "Pleased to meet you Martyn. Are we ready to go yet?"

Davies awkwardly shook the Regent's hand before quickly stepping back, aware that Sandringham's personal bodyguards were watching him like hawks. "We just need a few more minutes to rig up the holovid cameras, sound systems and patch in the PDSs", he said, referring to the giant plasma display screens that were dotted around the city for public broadcast services.

Just then, his PA pushed her way through the security cordon and hustled up the steps. "I thought I'd take the liberty of bringing your dress uniform, sir", she panted.

"Oh, Debs, you shouldn't have. Thank you for going to all that trouble, but I don't want to look like some military dictator..."

"Actually sir, I think it would be an excellent idea", said Cameron, staring at the gleaming white Com Guard Precentor's uniform, complete with robe and gold rank insignia. "I think the people need to see you as a strong leader...the defender of the Coalition".

"Hmph!" snorted Sandringham. "I haven't exactly done a great job of that so far".

"It's all about image, sir. Project the right image and say the right things and the people will believe in you".

William raised his eyebrows questioningly at the others who'd accompanied him. They all nodded agreement. "Oh, alright then…can someone give me a hand?"

His PA winked and smiled. "Come on, sir". She looked behind her and beckoned to a make-up artist who'd just finished working on one of the reporters.

"Oh, no", William groaned.

"Come on, sir - if we're going to do this, let's do it right".

Fifteen minutes later, Sandringham emerged from city hall, resplendent in his old, but pristine dress uniform. For command authority purposes, he held the rank of Marshal of the Armed Forces of the Britannic Coalition, but, so far, he hadn't got around to having a new uniform made.

Formerly an officer in the Com Guards, he'd served for over fifteen years, with his last deployment being with the 167th Division, against Clan Nova Cat on Tukayyid. Forced to eject from his mech and sustaining multiple injuries in the process, he'd resigned his commission, following a lengthy spell of rehab and retired to enjoy life as a country gentleman. Just eight years later, Word of Blake invaded Terra. With no Com Guard unit stationed in the UK, his warrior's instincts had kicked in and he'd found himself fighting a futile rearguard action, leading a hastily assembled militia. Predictably, in the face of the Blakists' overwhelming superiority, the militia had broken and scattered in a matter of weeks. He, along with the other survivors, had gone to ground and maintained a low profile, going on to become a leader in the resistance movement that formed, following the WoB occupation.

Always more of a thinker and a man of action, than a speechmaker, finding himself stood on this platform, in front of a silent, expectant throng, he felt foolish and awkward. Still, if it would help ease the fears of the populace and unite them in a common cause, he was prepared to go through with it. The makeup artist had fixed his hair and carefully applied a layer of 'pancake' to make sure his face didn't look odd under the holocam lights. He was ready to make his speech.

Behind the array of cameras, which waited to broadcast his words to every other world in the Coalition, Martyn Davies listened intently to his earpiece as the other crews reported in as ready to roll. He looked up at the Regent and gave him the countdown. "Ready in Five...Four..." The final three-count was done with silent hand gestures. The lights were on, the cameras were rolling, time for the action…

William composed himself and took a deep breath. "Citizens of the Coalition, these last few weeks have been hard on us all...none more so than the brave men and women who defend our borders. I share your anxiety and outrage, that our sovereign nation has been attacked, for no apparent reason, by cowardly and dishonourable enemies. Enemies who choose to remain anonymous and refuse to state their purpose or intent".

He took a sip of iced water from the cup someone had thoughtfully left there and scanned his notes. "Despite the best efforts of our security services, we are at this time unable to issue any meaningful information regarding the identity and purpose of these intruders, but I can confirm that we have taken steps to secure our worlds and prevent any further incursions".

He paused again to line up the next part of the speech in his head. "As our first line of defence, our naval forces have been redeployed and will attempt to intercept any vessels entering Coalition space without authorisation. Secondly, the Coyote Cavaliers mercenary unit have accepted a new contract to take up defensive duties on Britannia. The rest of their battalion is due to arrive in Coalition space next week".

He cleared his throat nervously, wondering what kind of reception his next statement would receive. "I am also pleased to be able to inform you that I have had personal contact with Prince Maxwell D'Avion of the Royalist Alliance in the last few days. He has assured me that he has given no authority to any Alliance units to conduct operations against us". Sandringham gave extra emphasis to the last sentence.

"Despite what you may have heard in the media, we are not at war with the Alliance. As a gesture of goodwill, Prince D'Avion has personally authorised the release of a full RAAF regiment, to operate under the control of our military, to help fight the invaders. It is scheduled to arrive within the next two weeks".

There was some murmuring from the crowd assembled in the square and one particularly vocal individual shouted, "That's all very well, but what do we do until then?"

William tried not to sigh. He had been expecting this question. "In the meantime I would urge you not to panic and to prepare yourself for evacuation at short notice, since we cannot predict when or where these raiders will strike again. Stock up on food and essential supplies and be ready to leave your homes at short notice. You will be receiving information from your local police force regarding evacuation procedures. If the worst should happen, militia units will be tasked with delaying enemy incursions and covering evacuations where necessary".

There were further mutterings of discontent from the crowd, until another voice spoke up. "There are rumours going round that we're being attacked by the Royalist Alliance, the Outer Colonies and even rogue Clan units...surely you must have some idea who's behind these attacks?"

William stifled another sigh. '_The damn media and its ever-hungry rumour mill!_' he thought. '_The people aren't stupid…but they are afraid and frightened people make rash decisions'_, he reminded himself.

"At the moment we have conflicting evidence that points to a number of possible aggressors, but so far we have no conclusive proof implicating any of them. I wish I could tell you more and give you more reason for optimism, but the plain truth is, we are at war with an unknown enemy, with only a rough idea of their capabilities and intentions. Until our allies arrive to reinforce our own units, the best advice I can give you is to prepare to defend yourselves in the event they land on our doorstep".

William gave a nervous grin. "At the risk of sounding like a recruiting poster, if anyone feels they would like to take a more active role in the defence of the Coalition, I would urge them to visit their nearest armed forces recruiting office. That is all for now…you know as much as we do. As soon as we have more news it will be made available to you. In the meantime, I will do everything in my power to repay your trust in me. Take care, be vigilant and report anything unusual to your local police force or militia unit. Thank you and good evening".

Will stepped away from the podium after Davies counted off the time to when the cameras stopped broadcasting. He mopped his face, where the makeup was beginning to run and took a long swig of water. "By the Unfinished Book - that was the hardest speech I've ever had to make", he said, collapsing into a fold-up chair.

"I thought you came across very well, sir", said Cameron.

"I think that remains to be seen".

"Well, at least they didn't throw stuff at you".

Will chuckled. "I suppose I do have that to be grateful for".

Just then Martyn Davies came up to relieve him of his lapel mike and battery pack. "An excellent performance, if I may say so, sir".

"Thank you. So, will that go out all across the Coalition?"

"It already has, sir. The HPG stations on every world held up all other traffic to send that broadcast through. It'll be repeated on all the local news shows for the rest of the day...everyone's going to hear you, sir".

"Well, I just hope they pay attention".


	13. The Past Returns

**_Planetary Command Centre,_**_**  
Mount Longdon, Port Stanley,**  
**Outer Colonies,**  
**The Periphery,**  
**2nd October 3068**  
_  
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice". Stark looked around the conference room, some two kilometres below the surface. The highly stable geology in the area allowed for such deep excavation without risking a major seismic incident.

Sitting around the large, oval shaped table was the entire Council of Eleven, including General Viktor Kravinoff, head of the OCDF. He wore none of the ribbons or medals he was entitled to, preferring just the Cameron Star insignia, above the crossed sword and baton that marked his rank.

Sitting to his right was Admiral Simone Giraudoux, commander of naval forces. Next to her was Rear Admiral Conrad Lefkon, head of the Marines and other special forces. To Kravinoff's left was Air Marshal James De Raven, the senior aviator. His position was considered by many to be junior to the others, but no one wanted to do without the support of the aerospace and conventional fighters under his command.

At the far end of the table was the Minister of Intelligence, David Wolfsbane. As head of the almost legendary 'All-Seeing Eye', all the plots and counterplots, all the words whispered and knives in the dark were his to unravel and employ. He was remarkably good at his job, making him one of the most powerful and feared men in all the Outer Colonies…everyone else at the table lived in dread of waking up one day surrounded by his nameless inspectors. He smiled at Stark, who despite maintaining an outward air of calm, felt a shiver run down her spine.

Stark was slightly surprised to see Mary Crawford, SaKhan of the Minnesota Tribe. The tall redhead had a reputation for being utterly ruthless and having little regard for anything that did not directly concern her Clan.

"Ok, let's get down to business", Stark said as she sat. "What the hell is going on?"

"I'm not a hundred percent certain", Wolfsbane admitted, "But it appears someone is trying to provoke a war between us, the Royalist Alliance and the Britannic Coalition. There have been several raids on both the Alliance and the Coalition, probably carried out by the same group. We were rather skilfully framed for the last attack on the Coalition…the mechs were all designs that we field and they even had OCDF markings under their new camo schemes".

"Unless someone here has something they need to tell me, I'm sure it wasn't us". Stark looked round the table, "Comments?"

"Every single battlemech in our inventory has been visually accounted for". General Kravinoff's voice was deep and gruff as the gravel pits of Hell. "And whoever was behind this made one mistake".

"Explain". Stark looked at him straight in the eye.

"One of the battlemechs they used was an APH-4D Apophis", Kravinoff continued. "While it is true that it is a design by Quantum-Tech Industries, it is not in use with any of our units…it is built exclusively for export to the Inner Sphere".

"Ladies and Gentleman, we have ourselves a smoking gun. But it's not enough to take to either the Alliance or the Coalition". Stark smiled thinly, eyeing each and every person at the table one by one. "I want you all to swear to me that this isn't some hare-brained scheme someone's come up with. I want you all to promise me that we are not behind this".

"Of that I can assure you". Wolfsbane nodded solemnly. "I've had all of my available Inspectors looking into this…there is no evidence that anyone within our borders is responsible".

"Neither are we…" SaKhan Crawford spoke for the first time. "While we have contingency plans for securing both the Royalist Alliance and the Britannic Coalition, in the event of Clan incursions, or the situation in the Inner Sphere deteriorates, they include nothing like this".

"And may I ask what your plans are, in just such an event?" said Stark, eyeing the other woman with thinly-veiled curiosity.

"Special operatives capture or incapacitate key political and military leaders, while our forces move in to secure strategically important parts of either realm. The idea is to take over with the minimum use of force and loss of life on all sides". Crawford sat back in her chair. "Some of our genetic experiments have proven most effective…our new generation of troops are unlike anything that has come before".

* * *

**_BCS_ Athena,_  
Wellington System,  
Britannic Coalition,  
October 2nd, 3068 _**

Demi-Precentor Terrell Forbes surveyed the bridge of the _Athena_. Even though he had now held command for over three months, he still felt a surge of pride in his ship and his crew. He felt at home…this was where he belonged! Let the mech jocks think they were the undisputed kings of the battlefield…this was his domain and he commanded more firepower than any regiment of mud-sloggers could dream of. As far as he was concerned, he was the all-powerful guardian and protector of Wellington. The stars were his kingdom, his destroyer his castle, the command seat his throne. The bridge was his crown and the mighty weapons at his command were his mace and sceptre. In short, he was ruler of all he surveyed and all was right with the universe.

He smiled ruefully, letting the brief wave of exhilaration that washed over him dissipate. Being captain of a warship could sometimes be a very heady experience. However, thinking about the responsibility he had to the thousands of souls on the distant blue, green and white planet never failed to sober him up. They had already suffered several attacks and he would be damned if he was going to allow some faceless enemy to inflict more suffering on them.

His renewed focus was just as well, as the tranquillity of this routine patrol was about to be shattered.

"Sir, I'm reading a large IR spike!" called the sensor operator. "It looks like we have a warship preparing to jump in-system sir. Our current position puts the bloom at just under 100,000 kilometers away, bearing Two Eight Five".

Forbes sat bolt upright and glanced over at the Acolyte, "They're not using the Zenith or Nadir points?" he asked, knowing it was a rhetorical question. If it was that close, there was no way their visitor could be using the standard system entry points.

"No, sir…the spike is coming from L-Point 2. Whoever they are, it looks they're trying to slip in unnoticed"

Forbes frowned, both puzzled and worried. Lagrangian Points (or L-Points) were areas of space where the gravitational forces from the system's planets and the sun cancelled each other out. This gave jumpships and warships additional entry points into star systems, if they wanted to avoid using the traditional Zenith and Nadir points at the northern and southern poles of the system's star.

Since Lagrangian Points changed with the orbit of the planets, unlike a star's zenith and nadir points, they were a favoured method of entry for smugglers, bandits and anyone up to no good…hence their nickname "pirate points". However, because the co-ordinates were continually changing, the possibility of miscalculating a jump was much higher and so they tended to be used only by those brave or foolhardy enough to take such risks.

If they were coming in at the L2 point, it meant they were entering the system on Wellington's far side, well beyond the orbit of its moon, Chard.

As Forbes digested this information, the sensor officer once more interrupted his thoughts. "Sir, we have one ship in-system, currently unidentified and another IR spike building! This one is huge…absolutely enormous! These have got to be warships, sir!"

That was enough for Demi-Precentor Forbes. Warships entering the system through a pirate point without prior warning could only have hostile intentions. "Sound General Quarters! All hands to battle stations! I want all Killer Whale launchers armed and all gunnery personnel to their positions immediately! Helm, plot an intercept course and execute a flanking burn. I want to be in weapons range ASAP. Whoever they are, they're way too close for my liking".

Forbes hoped that it was a false alarm and that the incoming vessels would turn out to be friendly, but a nagging thought in the back of his mind told him otherwise. The bridge crew carried out his orders swiftly and competently, reporting back to him within a few minutes. Forbes felt the vibration of the engines increase and the sudden increase in the artificial gravity as the _Athena_ accelerated from cruising speed to flank speed. He swayed and automatically corrected his posture as the deck tilted under him, the ship responding almost like a living creature to the helmsman's commands. The bridge was bathed in the red glow of the ship's combat lighting and the electronic General Quarters klaxon sounded throughout the ship.

Less than fifteen minutes later, as the _Athena_ cut her engines and began to decelerate, the second ship emerged from the L2 pirate point, just far enough behind its companion that they would only be able to engage one or the other.

"I have ID on the contacts!" called the sensor officer. "I read one Whirlwind class destroyer, bearing Two Seven Four at 76,000km and one Potemkin class troop cruiser, bearing Two Eight Three at 93,000km. Sir…neither ship is showing a transponder signature".

"Not responding to hails either, sir!" called the communications officer.

As the _Athena's_ high-power cameras zoomed in to get a better look at the new arrivals, they panned across the massive, distinctive cylindrical hull of the _Potemkin_. Forbes' mouth went dry and his stomach suddenly felt queasy as he saw it was carrying a full complement of 25 dropships…enough to carry up to 4 Divisions! There was only one reason anyone would bring that many dropships…

"Whoever they are, I'm guessing they're not here on a goodwill visit", said Forbes quietly, staring at the viewscreen in horrified disbelief.

Outnumbered and out-massed by the enemy, his first thought was to conduct a fighting withdrawal, taking the ship to the nearest jump-point and abandoning the system. Then he remembered his duty and the fact that, although much smaller than the _Potemkin_ and only marginally larger than the _Whirlwind_, the _Athena_ had been extensively refitted and was very well armed. The fact he wasn't necessarily outgunned was of some comfort, at least.

The _Whirlwind_ had also fired a flanking burn on its emergence from hyperspace. On seeing the _Naga_ class destroyer directly ahead, its captain seemed to hesitate. The slower _Potemkin_ continued to fire its engines at full burn, evidently hoping to slip past the guard ship that had appeared unexpectedly in their path. The _Whirlwind_, however, continued to slow, as if taking time to size up the _Athena_.

Forbes gestured for his Executive Officer, Adept Jane Asher, Weapons Officer, Adept Donal Muir and Tactical Officer, Adept Marissa May, to meet him around the holo-tank. The four conducted a hasty strategy and tactics meeting. With no further orders, the helmsman held the _Athena_ on course, her bow pointed at the enemy vessel, while she continued to decelerate.

It didn't take long to summarise their situation. Their first priority had to be to prevent the _Potemkin_ from launching its dropships. Given that they would be fully combat-loaded and would burn for Wellington at maximum speed, the troop carrier would want to close further before doing so. However, their relative positions and the distances involved meant their chances of success were slim, at best. At this range, despite its slow top speed, it could probably slip past the _Athena_ and close to launching distance before they could catch up and inflict enough damage to force it to withdraw.

Then there was the small matter of the destroyer escort. It would be in weapons range very soon and could then engage any time it wanted. None of them liked the idea of turning to chase after the troop carrier, exposing their stern to the destroyer, but none of them could conscionably allow the one-and-a-half million ton monster to just cruise past them and not at least try to stop it.

"Alright, lets do this", said Forbes quietly.

The four reached out their right hands, placing them one on top of the other. An unusual and informal gesture, it showed how close the crew had grown in the short time they'd served together.

"May Blake watch over us and guide us in our mission", replied Asher in an equally sober tone.

"Don't worry ma'am", replied the weapons officer. "The old girl's got a tough hide. That Whirlwind will have her work cut out to hurt us. We might not be able to stop that big bugger offloading all of its passengers, but we can certainly make them regret paying us a visit".

Terrell smiled, "I intend to make sure we do…"

Back at their stations, cool, calm professionalism took over once more.

"Helm, bring us about and put us on an intercept course with that Potemkin, maximum speed!" said Forbes from his command chair. "Comms, contact Wellington Naval Command. Inform them we have two hostile warships in system and that we are preparing to engage".

"Aye, sir!" came the near-simultaneous acknowledgements from the helmsman and communications officer.

"Sir - The Whirlwind is moving again…she's changing course to intercept!"

As Forbes watched the main viewscreen, the light-grey shape of the enemy destroyer changed in profile as she matched her coursed and speed to put herself between the _Athena_ and the _Potemkin_.

A game of cat and mouse ensued. At first, the _Athena's_ course change took her away from the pursuing Whirlwind, but its closer range to the much larger _Potemkin_ allowed her captain to maintain a guard station, frustrating Forbes' efforts to close with the troop carrier. With the _Athena_ moving at top speed and the _Whirlwind_ manoeuvring just enough to stay directly in her way, the range rapidly dropped.

"Sir - the Whirlwind has opened fire!" The call from the sensor operator carried more than a trace of alarm.

Although Forbes and the rest of the bridge crew had been expecting this sooner or later, the temperature seemed to drop several degrees and a near-silence descended. As they watched the main viewscreen, the enemy vessel headed straight towards them, flashes of light winking in the nose and forward weapon arcs.

Moments later, the hull began to reverberate with the impact of the _Whirlwind's_ fire.

"What do those things carry?" Forbes asked. He knew full well, but wanted to distract the others from the imminent danger.

Asher was the first to respond, as he guessed she would be. "Three light naval gauss rifles and four class 25 autocannon in the forward arcs. Six class 45 lasers and light PPC in the broadsides and three class 35 autocannon aft, sir", she recited from memory. "At least, that's all her capital scale weaponry…the rest shouldn't be anything to worry about".

"Very good, Commander", Terrell replied, smiling at his XO. "Now let's give those bastards a lesson in how to really arm a warship. Weapons, on my mark, open fire with forward laser and missile batteries…mark!"

The _Athena's_ hull vibrated slightly as a spread of eight Killer Whale missiles blasted clear of their launchers and streaked towards the enemy destroyer. Eight barely visible lances of amplified light stabbed towards the Whirlwind as her forward class 45 naval lasers opened fire.

There was a muted cheer from the bridge crew as the missiles detonated along the Whirlwind's bow and superstructure. Brief red flashes of light showed where the lasers found their target, leaving ugly black scars on its grey/white hull.

The Whirlwind responded by coming about and presenting her starboard broadside.

"Helm, come about, Zero Nine Five! Weapons prepare starboard batteries!" barked Forbes.

Both he and Asher had to brace themselves as the deck tilted sharply under their feet. As he watched, the enemy vessel completed its manoeuvre while the _Athena_ laboured to come about. Despite her superior armament and armour, she was seriously disadvantaged by her lack of speed and manoeuvrability.

"Brace for impact!" called Asher.

The enemy captain let loose a full broadside. The lasers gave little visible sign when fired, but the single light naval particle cannon showed as a brilliant azure beam that spanned the distance between the ships in the blink of an eye.

Energy weapons, although lacking the physical punch of their ballistic and projectile counterparts, caused a similar effect, simply through the unbalancing effect caused by the loss of armour or structure. The effect was magnified when a ship was moving at speed. The _Athena_ lurched slightly as she completed her turn.

"Damage report!" called Asher.

There was a protracted pause as the chief engineer consulted with the various section leaders. "Port sections all reporting in as fully operational. No hull breaches…though sensors are showing significant armour loss".

"Port batteries; one broadside, then fire at will!"

At first there was no tangible response as the _Athena's_ ten broadside lasers fired; then the hull groaned and vibrated as the ten missile launchers each offloaded a single large ship-killer missile. Four azure beams reached out a flickered briefly over the _Whirlwind's_ hull as her particle cannon came into play.

As before, the lasers burned into the Whirlwind's flank. The Killer Whales slammed into her hull in a staggered pattern, exploiting the earlier damage. As the PPCs flayed yet more of her protection away, a cloud of white gas began streaming from a jagged hole in her midsection. At this range, the mauling they had dished out to the enemy vessel was clearly visible, with the aid of the _Athena's_ hull cameras.

"Hull breach! We gave 'em a good hiding that time!" hooted Forbes, punching the air with his fist.

A louder cheer sounded from the bridge crew, their fighting spirit bolstered by the image on the viewscreen.

As the _Athena's_ broadside gunners began to fire at will, the Whirlwind accelerated, her captain desperate to get out of their arc of fire. It began to move away from the Coalition ship, firing its weapons at will.

Forbes allowed his ship to follow…caught up in the excitement of the hunt, as were the rest of the bridge crew. No-one noticed they were heading closer to the _Potemkin_ until a tremendous barrage shook the ship.

Forbes and Asher were nearly knocked off their feet and several of the crew fell out of their chairs as the ship rocked. Warning klaxons began to sound.

"What the hell was that?" shouted Forbes over the din.

"The Potemkin opened fire on us, sir!" shouted the sensor operator. "We're in range of her aft and starboard batteries now".

"Damage report!" called Asher.

"Sir, we have hull breaches in forward port sections 3 through 8 and we've lost all weapons in those locations! Damage control and rescue teams are en route right now".

"Sir, we have more missiles inbound!" called the sensor operator.

"Weapons, launch missile screen and set AMS to automatic! Helm, bring us about to Two Eight Five, flank speed!"

The hull vibrated again as the screen launcher fired an array of decoys. From the outside, the _Athena's_ hull lit up with the muzzle flashes of the anti-missile turrets as they tracked the incoming Barracuda missiles.

As the _Athena_ turned away from her much larger opponent, the Whirlwind took advantage and fired a starboard broadside into her stern, sloughing away a good deal of armour but failing to inflict any critical damage.

As she continued her turn, the _Athena's_ starboard batteries came into line with the Whirlwind and she unleashed another broadside, her lasers, missiles and particle cannon savaging the Whirlwind's stern and already-damaged starboard side. More holes appeared in her scarred flank, exposing her damaged internal structure.

"Sir, the Whirlwind is slowing down!" chimed the sensor operator. "I'm getting new readings…she's launching fighters, sir!"

"As if we didn't already have enough on our plate", said Asher quietly.

"Fighter Control, all units prepare for immediate launch! Helm, bring us about so our bay doors are facing the enemy!" ordered Forbes.

"Sir, I've got a dozen new contacts…can't tell you what they are though - the computer can't ID them!"

"Oh, crap!" muttered Forbes.

"Must be pretty new designs then, whatever they are", said Asher.

"Brilliant. Our aircraft date back to the Clan invasion".

The _Athena's_ complement of twelve _Stingray_ fighters weren't exactly antiques, but it was never pleasant going up against an enemy with newer equipment, with unknown capabilities.

Hollow roars echoed through the hull as the two flights of six aircraft launched from their bays. With both ships carrying twelve fighters, it would come down to the aircrafts' respective armaments and the skill of their pilots to win the day.

"Sir, I'm picking up multiple contacts from the Potemkin…she's launching her dropships!" came the call from the sensor operator.

"What the hell…?" wondered Forbes.

Asher punched in some commands into her console. "Sir, we're still over 200,000 kilometers from Wellington, why would the troop cruiser detach her dropships so soon?" she wondered.

They soon found out.

"Sir, I confirm four new contacts…aerodyne dropships of unknown class, bearing One Niner Zero, range five thousand and closing fast! They're big buggers too, sir…over twice the size of a Union…probably assault craft".

Forbes gave a frustrated sigh, "Just what we needed!"

Forbes continued to give helm and weapons commands to keep the _Athena_ trading shots with the Whirlwind as the moved in steadily decreasing circles. Terrell ground his teeth in frustration. With his considerable firepower advantage he should be able to finish off the lightly armed Whirlwind, but her captain played a canny game of cat and mouse, deftly manoeuvring his ship and managing to sidestep the worst of the Coalition ship's devastating broadsides.


	14. Delaying Action

**_Stingray F-92,  
Wellington System,  
Britannic Coalition_**

Demi-Precentor Kieran Forsythe was pinned back in his seat as his fighter was catapulted along the launch slide and flung out the bay door. The _Stingray_ exited smoothly, responding rapidly to his commands, pointing its nose upward and rocketing towards the approaching enemy fighters. His brow furrowed as he scanned them. Their profiles and head-on view were unfamiliar to him and the computer was unable to identify them, except they were sixty-tonners, fast and heavily armed.

"Got to be from one of the Houses…no-one from the 'Riff has tech that new" he muttered to himself, rueing the fact their computers' warbook files had not been updated for over ten years.

"Say again Lead", said his wingman, forming up on him. Adept Jacqueline Sparrow was a gifted pilot with an almost supernatural ability in dogfight situations. Right now there was no-one he would rather have watching his six.

"Warbook's not ID-ing the bandits…I'm guessing whatever they are, they're very new and probably very dangerous".

"Pah! They may be dangerous, but we're lethal, right sir?"

Forsythe smiled. Jacqui's bravery and enthusiasm were infectious.

As he watched, the enemy craft swooped and dived over the _Athena's_ stern, peppering her superstructure with laser and PPC fire. Occasionally, the paler blue discharge of a gauss rifle flared from the fighters' noses. It seemed they were trying to destroy or disable her aft weapons and sensor arrays, rather than try to inflict any serious damage. The warship's multitude of pulse laser batteries were sending up a furious storm of return fire but seemed to have little effect.

At the far edges of his radar display he saw the four larger blips of the approaching dropships. "Looks like they're trying to soften her up before the big boys get here", he said over the squadron's general frequency. We haven't got time for any fancy plans or tactics today ladies and gents…we just have to get in there and get those fighters off her back. Although this is a furball situation, don't neglect your discipline…do not engage unless you've got a wingman covering you. Now lets get in there and show those bastards how real pilots fly. That is all…good luck and godspeed".

Forsythe gave a cursory look around and saw the other four craft in his flight pairing up on the right. A short distance behind was Adept Jenson Bailey, organising his quintet of aircraft. Of all his pilots, Forsythe worried about Bailey the most. Although a very capable pilot, he was young and headstrong and tended to act before thinking things through.

As if to prove his point, Jenson's F92 went streaking past, with his wingman desperately trying to hold station. The other four craft followed in quick succession.

"Arrow Lead to Arrow Flight, lets get a move on, shall we? We can't let Bailey and his lads have all the fun", said Forsythe, pushing his throttle to the stops.

This kicked in the _Stingray's_ overthrusters and sent it rocketing into the fray. He was relieved to see Jacqui had kept up with him and the other four had peeled off in pairs to seek their own targets. As the _Athena's_ stern passed below him, he locked on to an enemy fighter that had just completed a strafing run.

Tying his fighter's extended range particle cannon and twin large lasers to his main trigger, he loosed off a volley that tore into the enemy craft's tail section, vapourising large portions of it. It evidently damaged the fighters' manoeuvring thrusters too, as it began to spin, nosediving into the _Athena's_ damaged stern. The resulting explosion tore a new hole in the battered warship's port aft section.

Surprised by the sudden appearance of enemy fighters in their midst, the unknown aircraft broke off from their attack on the warship and began to pair up, as demanded by standard dogfighting doctrine.

'_This should be interesting'_, thought Forsythe as he tracked a pair of enemy fighters that were trying to get on his tail. "Ready Jacqui", he asked his wingman over a private channel.

"I was born ready", came her characteristic reply.

* * *

**_BCS_ Athena,_  
Wellington System_**

"Dropships in weapons range, sir…they're moving in on our stern!" came the warning from the sensor operator.

"If they take out our engines, that damned Whirlwind will have us for breakfast", said Asher quietly.

"It was a trap…and we fell right into it", said Forbes, sounding slightly stunned.

Having forced the _Athena_ to abandon her pursuit of the Potemkin, the Whirlwind had manoeuvred in front of her and was now raking her bows with her remaining weapons, while the dropships closed in on her vulnerable engines. All the while, the troop carrier got closer and closer to its launch point.

"Order the fighters to engage the dropships…we've got to shake them off!" ordered Forbes.

A few moments later the communications officer came back with a response. "That's a negative, sir. The fighters are still fully engaged with the enemy aerospace force".

Asher and several others among the bridge crew looked to Forbes, wondering what miracle he was going to conjure up to get them out of this situation.

The _Athena_ shook as the leading Triumph assault dropships opened fire. Each carried a devastating array of seven extended range particle cannon and quad LRM launchers in their nose and forward weapon arcs. At close range, they were as devastating as capital class weapons.

"Sir, aft sections are reporting multiple hull breaches and heavy casualties! Engineering reports damage to the main drive and Fire Control reports several aft weapon stations out of action, including the screen launcher".

Forbes' face was a study in agonised thought as he racked his brains for a solution. None of the scenarios he'd been through at the Ark Royal Naval Academy on Britannia had prepared him for anything like this. Finally an answer presented itself.

"What are we going to do, sir?" prompted Asher softly, her voice only audible above the semi-organised chaos of the bridge because she was standing so close to him.

Forbes face suddenly relaxed and took on a strange expression. "Desperate times call for desperate measures", he said, "…and I think I have just the solution".

Asher stared at him, slightly wide-eyed. She had never seen her superior like this before.

"Helm, on my mark cut the main drive and give me a ten-second full burn on the bow thrusters. Weapons, prepare all broadside batteries for volley fire!"

As he waited for the weapons officer to report the readiness of the broadside batteries, the ship continued to lurch and vibrate as the second pair of Triumphs opened fire. Multiple alarms were sounding now, warning of the failure or imminent failure of numerous systems.

"All broadside batteries report ready to fire, sir!"

"Very well. Helm, on my mark…mark!"

Even amid the din of combat, the sudden powering down of the ship's main drive was noticeable, as was the negative acceleration as the ship's bow thrusters began to push her into reverse.

"Sound collision alarm!"

Another klaxon hooted urgently, making itself heard above the noise and everyone braced for impact, not quite sure why they were doing so. They soon found out why. There was a thunderous crash that shook the warship from stern to bow, followed several seconds later by another deafening, bone-jarring impact. All over the ship, crew and equipment tumbled in confusion as the ship bore the twin impacts of two eight thousand ton dropships, travelling at maximum thrust.

Eager to close in for the kill, their captains had followed too closely and had not been able to change course in time to avoid being rammed by the reversing warship. One hit head-on, the impact obliterating the forward section, instantly killing the bridge crew. The battered craft was brushed aside by the _Athena's_ buckled and warped hull, slowly, spinning into the void, its engines still burning fiercely. The captain of the other ship had spotted Forbes' ploy and had begun to manoeuvre, taking the impact amidships. The collision destroyed the _Triumph's_ port side and also damaged the main drive. It limped off in the direction of the _Potemkin_ at best speed.

The stanchion Forbes had been holding on to gave way, throwing him against the navigation console, injuring the navigator and destroying several display screens, which exploded in a shower of sparks and broken glass.

"Sir!" cried Asher. She moved to help him, but two other ensigns were already racing to help.

"Ma'am", called the weapons officer, "The other two dropships are in our broadside arcs".

The other two assault ships had been in the process of circling to begin another pass at the warship's battered stern. Both crews got a very nasty shock when they suddenly found themselves staring at the destroyer's broadside batteries.

"Broadside batteries, one volley then fire at will!" she shouted hoarsely, torn between her desire to help her commanding officer and her duty to her crew.

"Its okay, ma'am", called one of the ensigns. "He's badly cut and he's got severe concussion, but he's breathing".

At first there was little sound as the _Athena's_ broadside gunners engaged the remaining dropships, but then the missile launchers joined in, followed, for the first time in the battle, by her dozen class-30 naval autocannon. At close range, her formidable weaponry wrought terrible damage on the much smaller vessels. The lasers and particle cannon vapourised much of their armour protection, before the Killer Whale missiles blew jagged holes in the remaining armour. The massive naval autocannon tore into the dropships' internal structure, breaching their drive cores. Both ships disintegrated, consumed by a combination of million-degree plasma and detonating ordnance.

* * *

**_F-92 Stingray_,_  
Dogfight over the_ Athena**

Demi-Precentor Forsythe yanked his control stick back and to the right and lit his overthrusters as his threat receiver beeped, warning him one of the enemy fighters had a lock on him. He was rapidly tiring of this game. He had been fighting for barely ten minutes and already he was sweaty from the heat build-up caused by his weapons and exhausted from the continuous high-g moves he'd been forced to make. He wasn't sure his _Stingray_ could take much more either.

Whoever they were, their craft were every bit as manoeuvrable as the F-92…worse, they were better armed and carried heavier armour. While it took three of four solid hits to bring these fighters down, they seemed to be able to take out his _Stingrays_ with just one or two salvos.

Four enemy fighters had fallen quickly as they'd started their attack, catching their pilots by surprise. Sparrow, Bailey, himself and another pilot had scored heavy hits on their engines and they'd quickly disappeared from the fray. Since then it had been one-way traffic. Relying on their heavier armour to protect them, the enemy aerospace craft had paired up and fallen upon his two flights with a vengeance. There appeared to be two variants, one armed with a gauss rifle and lasers and another that carried twin particle cannon. Between them they'd mercilessly hunted down six _Stingrays_ and their heavier weapons were exacting a heavy toll on the lighter armoured craft.

Forsythe risked a quick sideways glance as a pair of huge explosions blossomed briefly on either side of the _Athena_. He bared his teeth in a savage grin as he saw two of the enemy dropships torn apart by the destroyer's fire. He heard a whoop from one of Bailey's pilots over the com link, which suddenly turned to a cry of fear, ending in an abruptly terminated scream and static. He saw a smaller fiery bloom announcing the death of another of his pilots. The dark shape of a _Defiance_ omnifighter, silhouetted briefly against the explosion, zoomed right to left across his field of vision. He yanked his joystick hard to the left, snap-rolling his _Stingray_ to follow the enemy fighter.

"Still with me, Jacqui?" he called over the flight frequency.

"You don't get rid of me that easily, sir", came back Jacqueline's voice.

"Then let's get that sonofabitch!"

He made another high-speed roll, lining up his nose on the engines of the enemy craft. In a repeat of his first strike he tied both large lasers and the PPC to his primary trigger and fired. Just as he did so, the PPC indicator winked out on his HUD. Both lasers stabbed their crimson beams towards the _Defiance_ but failed to inflict critical damage.

"Shit! My PPC's out!" called Forsythe, "Take over, I'll cover you!"

"I'm on him!"

The two fighters smoothly exchanged places, with Sparrow taking up the attack position, while Forsythe kept watch for enemy fighters from behind her.

"Target locked!"

"Take him out!"

Jacqui's _Stingray_ unleashed all three of its primary weapons, obliterating the enemy fighter's aft section. It tumbled from the melee trailing flame and debris. The pair shared triumphant shouts and began looking for new targets. Forsythe allowed himself a moment of sober reflection, '_this is a battle of attrition…and right now we're losing'_.


	15. Enemy Unmasked

**_BCS_ Athena,_  
Wellington System_**

"Sir, Engineering reports critical damage to the drive system! Engines are not responding, although the fusion core is still intact and functional. They're reporting manoeuvring thrusters only!" called the helmsman.

The _Potemkin_ was beginning to present its own right broadside to the _Athena_, firing its particle cannon and lasers from long range, however, the two ships were moving (or in the _Athena's_ case, drifting) away from each other and the larger ship's weapons were only scoring hits sporadically.

Of more immediate concern to Asher was the Whirlwind, which although heavily damaged, was continuing to close, adding its non-capital weapons, including LRMs and large pulse lasers to the steady, if weakened, barrage of fire. Only one of its gauss rifles appeared to still be functional, along with about half its capital lasers. Its bow and starboard side were showing heavy damage, with numerous jagged holes venting atmosphere into space. Asher felt sure that another couple of concentrated volleys could finish it off…the trouble was they could no longer move to keep their broadside weapons on target.

_'We might have a chance if we could just slow it down'_, she thought.

Right now the enemy destroyer was attempting a fast burn across the _Athena's_ bows, presumably to get into a position where it could attack her ravaged stern.

Then she had another thought.

"Helm, give me a twenty second burn on the starboard thrusters! Weapons, prepare all remaining port batteries for volley fire!" she shouted, feeling a surge of venomous hatred surge through her. _'If we're going down, we'll at least take some of the bastards with us!'_

The _Athena_ began to turn on her axis, moving slowly at first, she began to accelerate, matching the Whirlwind's manoeuvring and managing to keep her port side facing the enemy.

"Weapons, on my mark, one volley from all port weapons, then fire at will…target the bridge!" snapped Asher, still flushed with anger.

She could see from the weapons officer's shocked expression that he had not been expecting that order. He nodded acquiescence anyway and waited for her next command.

"On my mark…mark!"

Again the _Athena's_ lasers reached out their invisible, lethal caress and now Asher could see sparks, the glow of superheated armour and scorching appear around the _Whirlwind's_ bridge. The brilliant, flickering azure beams of her particle cannon washed over the ferroglass viewscreen, scorching and crazing it. A volley of Killer Whale missiles slammed into the destroyer's superstructure, obliterating various pylons and aerials from its sensor arrays. As she watched, the detonations blew out the bridge's viewscreen. She stared in horrified fascination as tiny figures and whirling clouds of debris were sucked into space. They had decapitated the enemy destroyer.

The _Athena's_ autocannon joined in the orgy of destruction, exploiting the damage done by the missiles and energy weapons, breaching the upper structure in several places. Asher continued to watch as the _Whirlwind_ remained on course, engines still burning brightly, fires still raging throughout her hull and superstructure, despite the void's best attempts to extinguish them.

It had reached a distance of two thousand kilometres when the first explosion punched through its forward section. Maybe a fire had spread to one of its magazines…they'd never know. This was swiftly followed by more explosions throughout the hull. Before their eyes, the destroyer slowly disintegrated. No lifeboats or escape pods were detected.

Their triumph was short lived. No sooner had Asher and her crew remembered there was another ship out there than the _Athena_ was hammered by another volley from the _Potemkin_. Completely focused on their fight against the _Whirlwind_, no-one had noticed the troop carrier come about, presenting its starboard broadside. With both ships almost stationary, the chances of missing were virtually nil.

"Sir, engineering reports hull breaches in starboard sections thirteen through nineteen! They've sealed off the aft sections from the drive bays onward. Fire Control reports fifty percent of all weapon stations destroyed or disabled. Our damage control teams can patch us up, but they're saying another hit like that could finish us off".

On hearing that depressing summary of their situation, Asher knew the fight was over.

As if to confirm her fears, the communications officer spoke up again.

"Ma'am, I'm receiving a hail from the Potemkin".

Asher sighed and took a moment to compose herself, "Put it on screen", she said, taking deep breaths and forcing herself to calm down a little.

A moment later, the main viewscreen, mounted over the bridge's segmented windows, flickered to life. It showed a surprisingly youthful looking man, with a shock of unruly blonde hair. He would have looked quite handsome, but for the madness that burned in his pale blue eyes.

The voice that came over the bridge speakers was filled with righteous fury. "This is Precentor Coltrane Burke, commander of the Blake Guard warship Divine Retribution. We are the vanguard of the Word of Blake mission to guide our fallen brethren back to the light of Blake's infinite wisdom. It is ten years to the day since your misguided, heretical leaders chose to turn aside from the True Path. It is our blessed duty to cleanse you of your wrongdoings and bring enlightenment to our lost brothers and sisters. Continue to resist and I will not hesitate to order your immediate and complete destruction. Surrender and receive Blake's forgiveness…or die. I leave the choice to you".

Asher's eyes went wide with horror and she instinctively reached for the grab rail at her station, to stop herself falling, as she felt her knees give way. Around her, the rest of the bridge crew reacted with similar shock and disbelief.

She turned round unsteadily and sought out the other senior officers, one by one, her eyes mutely appealing for help, for any alternative to the awful fate that surely awaited them, should they accept the Blakists' terms. There was none to be found, as they each returned her questioning gaze with an almost imperceptible shake of the head, their expressions a mixture of shock and resignation.

Turning back to her command console, she silently reprimanded herself for trying to delay the inevitable. The ship was crippled, on fire and lacking a significant amount of her weaponry and crew. There was nothing more to be done. She took a deep breath before speaking. "This is Adept Jane Asher of the Coalition warship Athena. If you will guarantee our safety, I will offer our unconditional surrender".

There was a few moments' pause, as if the enemy commander was considering her words, though there really was nothing to consider. "Very well", he said, sounding faintly amused, "Bring your ship about and lay along our starboard side…"

"I'm afraid I can't comply", said Asher, interrupting. "Our drive system is severely damaged and we have manoeuvring thrusters only".

"Very well", said the voice, somewhat testily. "We will send dropships and shuttlecraft. Stand by and prepare to be boarded".

With that, the link went abruptly dead.

She looked over at the communications officer. "Transmit the following to Command. Invaders are Word of Blake. Heavy damage and numerous casualties sustained. Main engines and KF drive inoperative. Enemy destroyer neutralised. Enemy cruiser undamaged and continuing on course to low planetary orbit. Anticipate massed dropship assault within the next six hours".

"Aye, ma'am". The communications officer's despondency showed in her voice.

As Asher looked around the bridge, she could see the others shared her sense of failure.

* * *

**_Wellington Naval Command,__  
Taunton City, Wellington,  
Britannic Coalition  
_**

"Sir, incoming transmission from the Athena on a secure channel!" called the communications officer.

Sent on an encrypted channel, it was automatically routed though the command centre's encoding / decoding system, which decrypted it and printed it out in plain text.

Precentor Russell Watkins strode over to the machine and yanked the slip of paper out, almost before it finished printing. "Blake's Blood! Forward this to Bridgewater, they're going to need their fighters on alert immediately!" he said, shoving the message slip into the hands of the startled junior officer, "…and copy it to Command, Code Alpha priority!"

"Although Blake knows what they'll be able to do about it", Watkins said to himself as the young Adept hurried off to the communications room, "The only thing that can save us now is some kind of miracle".

* * *

**_CAF Bridgewater,__  
Wellington,  
Britannic Coalition  
_**

Sirens sounded across the airfield and pilots ran for their aircraft. The few who took the time to glance up at the sky, saw pinpricks of light, growing steadily larger and brighter as the constellation of dropships descended on Wellington with their deadly cargo. With the capacity to carry up to five Divisions between them, the defenders' only hope was to destroy or cripple as many as possible before they could land.

The problem was, only two-thirds of the Third Aerospace Division was suited to aerial combat. III Gamma Wing was made up of ground attack aircraft. Their pilots took off anyway, rather than wait to be destroyed where they sat on the ground. They circled at low altitude, waiting to strafe any enemy ships that landed. Radar and other sensors fed data to the base's twelve automated Calliope turrets, which tracked the inbound hostiles, waiting for them to come into range.

As III Alpha and Bravo Wings rose up to meet the invaders, crimson laser beams, the azure discharges of particle cannon and flashes of flame and smoke from missile launchers lit up the darkening evening sky.

Before they could close the range, however, dozens of small ghostly shapes disgorged themselves from a number of dropships. The Blakists had come prepared from an aerial battle and units of their own advanced omnifighters swooped down on the defenders.

Any slim hope the Wellington aerospace force might have had of inflicting casualties on the inbound dropships, evaporated as they were forced to combat the Blakist fighters. Hopelessly outnumbered, they nevertheless fought valiantly, but as the losses mounted, it became clear theirs was a lost cause. After less than an hour, the handful of survivors were forced to retreat to emergency airfields, well north of the capital, having inflicted substantial losses on the enemy aerospace force, but doing little to halt the invasion.

The old Comstar was back…and its name was the Word of Blake…

* * *

_**Office of the Precentor Commander,  
BCAF Headquarters,  
Westminster,  
Britannic Coalition**_**_,  
October 3rd, 3068_  
**

Robert Jackson looked up from the report he was reading, as there was a knock at his door.

"Enter".

A junior comms officer walked quickly over to his desk, carrying a sealed envelope. He handed it to the Chief of Staff.

"This just came though the HPG secure service, sir".

Jackson took the envelope and scanned the front, the numbers and symbols confirming its importance, security classification, the sender and the recipient. He used a paper knife to neatly slit one end, shook out the contents and began reading.

_***Flash Priority HPG message*** _

_From: Precentor III Julian Etherington, Taunton, Wellington  
_

_To: Precentor-Commander Robert Jackson, Westminster, Britannia  
Date: October 2nd, 3068  
_-  
_Sir,_

_On the 2__nd__ October, at 18:23 local time. we received word from Wellington Naval Command that a pair of warships had entered the system and that the Athena was moving to identify them and determine their intentions. I hope you're sitting down when you read this, sir, because we now know who is responsible for these attacks...its the Word of Blake!  
_

_The Athena engaged and destroyed one ship but was heavily damaged herself and was eventually forced to surrender. Shortly after, Aerospace Command reported a large number of dropships burning for various locations around the capital. The Third Aerospace Division engaged them, destroying three and damaging five more before they landed, but they sustained heavy losses in doing so. We deployed immediately to meet their ground forces, but were forced to withdraw after just a few hours. They quickly overwhelmed our forward positions and moved to destroy our headquarters. They are now advancing on our primary fallback position, just forty kilometres south of Taunton. If they breach our lines, there is little to stop them taking the capital. We are down to 60% nominal strength at this time and while Territorial Army infantry and armour units are moving to garrison the capital, we cannot hold out much longer. __Best estimates put enemy strength at two combined arms Divisions. __With our current supply and manpower situation, I believe we can hold out another week...maybe two. After that...I wouldn't like to say._

_Request that you send any units you can to reinforce us, as soon as possible._

_Yours Respectfully,_

_Precentor III J. Etherington_  
_**BCAF 92**__**nd**__** Division**__  
_

_***END TRANSMISSION***_

The slip fell from his hand, onto his lap and Jackson was surprised to see his hand shaking.

"Are you okay, sir?" asked the comms officer, concerned at how pale the Chief of Staff had gone.

Jackson nodded slowly, numb with shock.

"Dismissed", he said hoarsely.

As soon as the aide had left, he activated his desk com system and punched in the code for the Regent's office.


	16. Incursion

**_OCS _Robert McKenzie,**_  
**Pirate Jump Point, Wellington System,**  
**Britannic Coalition,**  
**The Periphery,**  
**5th October 3068**  
_

"That was a short ceremony", said Joseph, resting his head back against the pillow, thankful for the effects of the Corvette's slowly rotating grav-deck. "I always figured you for someone who'd want something a little grander".

"Needs must when the Devil drives", said Anna as she rested against her husband's chest, "And there is a long and well known tradition of ship's captains performing marriage ceremonies for their passengers".

"Still, I am surprised that you didn't ask me to sign a pre-nuptial agreement. As things stand, I could divorce you tomorrow and walk away the richest man in the Outer Colonies".

"If I thought for a moment that you were the kind of man who would do such a thing, I would never have married you. You may like to play the up-from-the-ranks card, but I know that you're a man of honour and that you love me".

"Would a man of honour do what we did last night?"

"Probably not, but I am not inclined to complain. Although, perhaps I should tell you that I am not currently taking any form of contraceptive and it is a very, very long way back our estate on Vision".

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Only that I would like to at least be with child before our first anniversary".

"Well now, we'll have to see what we can do about that..."

* * *

**_DropShip _Constantine**_  
**Outskirts of Birkenhead,**  
**St Helens, Britannic Coalition,**  
**The Periphery,**  
**8th October 3068**  
_  
"Sir, need I remind you that our very presence here is illegal and it is only by chance that we are even on this planet." Major the Lady Elisabeth Demarco stood in her cooling vest and shorts in the middle of the _Constantine's_ main mech bay, "It was only be the grace of God that we were able to enter the system and land without being detected. Acting now may inflame the situation further".

"I know that you are my XO and that, as such, it is your duty to play Devil's advocate". Colonel Sir Benedict di Milo paused halfway up the ladder leading to his _Highlander's_ cockpit, "Do you remember the sacred oath you took when you joined?"

"A Knight is sworn to valour. His heart knows only virtue. His blade defends the helpless. His might upholds the weak. His word speaks only truth. His wrath undoes the wicked". Demarco closed her eyes and repeated the words that were burned into her very soul.

"The oath we have all taken, now we shall fulfil it".

"Spears shall be shaken, shields shall be splintered. A sword day...a red day...ere the sun rises". Demarco looked round as the heavily armed bay door slowly opened, letting in the first rays of dawn, "May God guide and protect you, Sir Benedict".

"And may his angels watch over you, with burning swords in hand, Lady Elisabeth".

Across the entire landing zone, located in a large region of wilderness, dropships opened their bay doors and the sound of mighty war machines filled the still morning air.

The Knights Templar rode forth to battle, honour, glory and death...

* * *

**_Governor's Estate,  
Birkenhead,  
St Helens,  
Britannic Coalition,  
8__th__ October, 3068_**

Nathaniel Wrenshaw, governor of St Helens, slumped forward over his desk, his head in his hands. His elbow knocked the cup of coffee by his arm, which spilt some of its contents on the e-paper he'd been reading…fortunately the document reader was waterproof. The front-page story (which had continued for several more pages) was the main cause of his latest anguish.

The large, bold type headline screamed JIHAD COMES TO THE COALITION!

Word had spread fast from Wellington and now all twenty-one worlds of the Coalition knew that the Word of Blake were behind the recent incursions.

Following the relative calm, after the Regent's upbeat message of a few days ago, the population of his previously peaceful world had risen up in a kind of mass hysteria, the like of which he'd never seen. Both the planet's main continents, Wirral and Kirby seemed to be teetering on the brink of total anarchy.

Of course, the government and military had tried to limit the spread of knowledge, for the time being, precisely to avoid the sort of panic that had now set in, but he'd quickly learned the futility of such efforts. There was never any hope of keeping news of this enormity under wraps for long.

He could understand why the people were afraid, since St Helens was less than a hundred light years from the troubled world of Wellington, but their response both troubled and disappointed him. The riots and demonstrations were counterproductive and only served to make the world an easier target. He could guess how it had happened of course. It usually started with small groups talking in bars, which grew to larger organised town meetings, which in turn became mass demonstrations on the streets...thousands of angry and fearful citizens, mistrustful of a government apparently powerless to repel this seemingly unstoppable enemy.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. With hindsight it had probably been a mistake to use riot police, armed with tear gas, baton rounds and water cannon, to disperse the crowds, but he'd wanted to end the demonstrations quickly and decisively. The massed crowds were bringing the entire city to a halt and it had been the perfect opportunity for the less well intentioned to indulge in looting, arson, vehicle theft, mugging and countless other examples of petty crime.

In the end, the presence of large numbers of armed police had only served to inflame the people even further. The protests had not ended quickly, nor could he be sure they wouldn't flare up again. There had been pitched battles on the streets, which had only died down after casualties had escalated to battlefield proportions. Hospitals everywhere had their trauma wards full of people with concussion, broken and fractured limbs. Mercifully there had been few actual deaths.

About the only good news was that the more forward-thinking citizens had visited their local recruiting offices in response to the BCAF's recruitment drive. It seemed nearly every town and city now had its own militia. Precentor Commander Robert Jackson had instigated the formation of these new units, formally known as the Territorial Army. Although exact numbers were unavailable at the moment, Wrenshaw guessed that all the various units combined, across the two continents, would add up to a couple of Divisions.

He frowned. Although good for morale and helping to stop St Helens descending into utter chaos, these new TA units would have little effect, should the Blakists choose to visit his world. Most of the militia units were infantry only, though some were lucky enough to have a few armoured vehicles and mechs in their inventory. In any event, they would be no match for the battle hardened veterans of the Blake Guard.

As if all this wasn't bad enough, Pendercorp Engineering, the new arms company that had decided to set up on St Helens, was inexplicably bearing the brunt of the people's anger, their facility at Anfield Park besieged by crowds of protesters, ever since word had got out about their arrival. On the way to his office, he'd seen posters and placards bearing slogans such as "PenderCorp Out!", "Money-Grabbing Warmongers", "PenderCrooks!" and "PenderKillers!" on his way into work. The chants and verbal abuse were even worse.

Strangely, there was still no news regarding the exact nature of their guests' involvement in the Black Isle incident and he was half inclined to believe they were the reason for the Coalition's current problems.

On the other hand, he'd received explicit instructions, directly from the Regent, that Pendergrass and his people were to be extended every courtesy and he felt duty bound to follow them to the letter.

That thought stopped his mental wanderings cold in their tracks. Maybe some good could come out of this. He activated his desk com unit and found Pendercorp's number in its electronic directory. After a few rings, a harassed-sounding secretary answered. "Good morning, Pendercorp Engineering, how may I help you?"

"Can I speak to Mr Pendergrass, please?"

"I'm afraid he's down at the factory at the moment".

"Okay, well could I leave a message then?" Jonathan heard some tapping noises on the other end as the secretary opened up the company's messaging system on her computer.

"Certainly, sir – one moment please. Okay – please continue with your message".

"Well, I just thought that if the company needed extra personnel at the moment, now might be a good time to start advertising. I imagine you arrived here from Black Isle a little short-staffed. Recruiting locally will help the company integrate with the area. It'll give the people a sense of purpose – help them feel like they're contributing to the defence of the planet. If they feel like the company is part of the community, they might be less inclined to demonstrate and throw rocks at the Chairman's car. Tell him to at least think it over". As he spoke, he heard the sounds of rapid typing as his words were transcribed into electronic format.

"Thank you sir, your suggestion has been forwarded to Mr Pendergrass. Can I take a contact number in case he wishes to call you?"

Nathaniel gave her his office number. After ending the call, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, letting out a long sigh. He checked his appointment schedule and saw he had a videoconference with Precentor Margo Koivu, commander of the BCAF 201st Division, regarding planetary defence. _'That should be fun!' _he thought gloomily. Taking early retirement and taking the next available jumpship to Canopus sure seemed like a good idea right now.


	17. Breaking Point

**_Office of the Regent,  
Westminster, Britannia,  
Britannic Coalition  
10__th_**_** October 3068**  
_

Sandringham sighed as his aide closed the office door on his way out. The news from Wellington in the latest briefing had been anything but good.

Following the rout of the Lancers' inexperienced III Bravo unit, III Alpha, composed mainly of veterans, had launched a sortie immediately on arrival in the sector, in a desperate attempt to halt the invaders' advance. The counteroffensive had succeeded, up to a point and the attackers' progress had stalled for the time being, but the respite had come at a price, with Alpha losing over a third of their mechs and nearly as many pilots in the encounter.

Although enemy casualties were estimated to be almost double, it was of little consolation, as the Lancers simply could not continue to sustain losses of that magnitude. The enemy, on the other hand, seemed to have troops and equipment to burn.

The Lancers' remaining mech unit, III Gamma, was even less experienced than Bravo and didn't even have a full roster of mechs or pilots, so there was no question of sending them into the field. For the moment, they were being used to garrison the headquarters and reinforce the city's defences.

Now, a week on from the initial attacks, the Lancers' commanding officer, Precentor Julian Etherington, had reported that, in the wake of his failed offensive gamble, his defensive strategy was now beginning to crumble. The latest news from Wellington was that the invaders had managed, over the past six days, to seize or destroy all the outlying towns and villages between Dorchester, on the northern coast and the capital. Nothing, it seemed, could stop their steady, relentless drive to the capital Taunton City. With their air support decimated within the first few hours of the invasion, Etherington had nothing but his own limited resources to fall back on.

His PA had left a copy of Etherington's latest report on his desk, earlier that morning: it made grim reading.

.

.

_***MILCOMNET TRANSMISSION*** _

_**Classification:**__ SIGMA I __  
__**Priority:**__ ALPHA 2__  
__**To:**__ Precentor Commander Robert Jackson, Milton Keynes, Britannia __  
__**From:**__ Precentor III Julian Etherington, Taunton, Wellington__  
__**Date:**__ 05/09/68 _

_Following Operation Riposte, the Blakists have resumed their advance. We are continuing to hold them at bay, but __the Lancers have now reached their Combat Loss Grouping. The leading enemy units are now within ten kilometres of Taunton City and as I compose this message, I can hear the latest artillery salvos landing, just a few hundred yards from our field base. I have III Gamma, as well as our armour units, Delta and Epsilon, covering the industrial parks, hyperpulse generator station, utility sites and major thoroughfares, but they are spread too thinly to hold against a concerted attack. _

_The surviving elements of III Alpha are regrouping at MFBs outside the city to act as a flanking force. The Division has suffered over sixty percent losses and we have no reinforcements to call on. I must emphasise that the majority of our remaining mechs are heavily damaged and that their combat effectiveness is greatly diminished as a result. While ammunition is not yet a concern, our tech crews do not have sufficient spare parts to keep all our mechs battle-ready. Also, many of our pilots are suffering from fatigue, which is affecting their judgement and performance in the field. As a result, morale is extremely low. _

_According to our best estimates, we have destroyed or disabled nearly two Level IIIs of enemy mechs and vehicles, however even if we are facing only a single enemy Division, that would mean we still have a further, unblooded Level III approaching the capital as I speak. If that were not bad enough, we have had unconfirmed reports of a second Word of Blake Division approaching from Okehampton._

_The Aerospace Division that engaged the dropship force, as it made planet-fall, was all but wiped out. Two Level IIs of ground attack aircraft survived, mostly intact. To their credit, instead of withdrawing, they agreed to provide air support for us._

_On a personal note, perhaps the single most demoralising aspect of this situation is the enemy artillery, which has been almost continually falling on our positions for the last two days, destroying the city's infrastructure and the few remaining supply depots, making it almost impossible to effectively co-ordinate our defences. _

_I regret to inform you, sir that unless we receive reinforcements within the next week, the capital and with it, the entire continent, will fall into enemy hands. _

_Yours Respectfully, _

_**Precentor III Julian Etherington**__, __  
__BCAF 92__nd__ Division, Wellington _

_***END TRANSMISSION***_

_.  
_

_.  
_From the response Robert Jackson had attached to the message, William could tell the Precentor Commander was agonising over what decision to make. According to best estimates the Royalist Alliance's Kamchatkan Ice Devils, were still about 48 hours from Coalition space. The Britannia Guards were still over four days away and in any case had personnel and equipment problems of their own.

Looking at the list of names Jackson had copied the report to, it was clear he was seeking advice from his fellow senior BCAF commanders, including the Regent, himself a former unit commander in the Com Guards. He frowned as he tried to recall the dispositions of the various Divisions. Sending the Halifax Hussars was out of the question…they were too inexperienced and too far away. Given the time needed for the orders to reach the Hussars, for the regiment to load its men and equipment onto dropships and then make the two jumps needed to get to Wellington, it would likely all be over. The Coyote Cavaliers mercenary unit, by far the best force in the Coalition, were needed here on Britannia.

Looking further down the document, he saw Jackson had contemplated authorising Precentor Brassington to send a warship to capture or destroy the _Potemkin_ troop cruiser, currently in orbit over Wellington, thus trapping the invaders on planet. It might not save the planet from being overrun, by it would certainly buy the BCAF desperately needed time to co-ordinate a counter-strike to take them out once and for all. He'd even briefly contemplated using orbital bombardment to destroy the enemy's staging and supply areas, but disregarded it as too risky. Sandringham nodded in agreement as he read. Using warships to strike ground targets was only one step above nuclear weapons in his opinion. It could be too indiscriminate, hitting friendly units and civilian populations as well as the intended target. Reading on, he was relieved to see his Chief of Staff had discarded that option, on pretty much the same grounds. The consequences didn't bear thinking about, if the warship's gunners were even slightly off target.

That left only one option: send the recently formed Britannia Divisions. Reading further down the report, he could see Jackson had also considered this option. It would be a gamble, as two were composed mostly of new recruits, who had yet to see combat. The third, however, was made up entirely of hand picked, veteran Com Guard warriors. Perhaps they could make a difference…

* * *

**_Regent's Office,  
Blenheim Palace,  
Westminster,  
Britannia,  
11__th_**_** October, 3068**  
_  
Sandringham stood in front of the large polycarbonate-reinforced windows, staring at the large park that stood in the centre of Westminster City. Quite a few people were taking the time to enjoy the beautifully landscaped grounds on this warm late summer afternoon.

The pleasant view and unseasonably warm weather did little to lighten his mood however. He was still thinking about the latest dispatch from Precentor Etherington. Jackson had visited his office yesterday evening and the two of them had talked long into the night. It was typical of the close working relationship the pair had forged, since serving together in the Comstar Guards and Militia. They'd remained close friends after Sandringham's retirement from active service and after the Word of Blake's invasion of Terra had thrown them together once more, they had more or less picked up where they had left off, their roles as Regent and Chief of Staff, not that different from their service in the Blessed Order.

As Precentor Commander of the Armed Forces of the Britannic Coalition, Robert Jackson could authorise the deployment of units as he saw fit, but on occasion he still sought the counsel of his former comrade in arms. Closing his eyes, William could see the report summary in his mind...it didn't make for pleasant reading. Their meagre forces were already stretched paper-thin and while both military and civil intelligence confirmed that there were no new threats to contend with, it still made both men uncomfortable, relocating a sizeable portion of their military assets and leaving their capital world so lightly defended.

As a result of the latest recruitment drive they'd managed to form two additional Divisions on Britannia. The 77th, the Coeurs Des Lions were a green unit, most of whose personnel had only recently completed basic training. The other unit had been the brainchild of Jackson himself. The 101st, the Regent's Own Household Cavalry, was an elite regiment composed mainly of former Com Guard personnel. It had required a large number of transfers to get so many veteran warriors in one unit, but they'd all been keen to volunteer to be part of the Coalition's most prestigious unit. Their commander, Precentor James Taplin had pulled strings like a master puppeteer to pull his unit together, but they were now ready and just waiting for an assignment.

Of course, sending these regiments to Wellington would practically strip Britannia of its military protection, leaving the mercenary Coyote Cavaliers - essentially a reinforced battalion and the 7th Aerospace Division, as sole guardians of the planet.

Britannia had yet to be targeted by the Blakists, while Wellington was bearing the brunt of the assault. Could he risk the enemy suddenly shifting their attention to the Coalition's capital world? On the other hand, could he live with his conscience if he left Etherington and the men who had fought so courageously with him, to hang in the breeze?

Finally making up his mind, he turned abruptly and strode over to his desk. He reached over to his com unit and punched that gave him a direct line to Jackson's office. The Precentor-Commander answered almost immediately.

"Sir?" from the tone of his voice, it sounded like he knew what was coming.

"Rob, begin drafting orders for the 77th and the 101st to ship out to Wellington...immediately. I want them on their way before tomorrow morning. Do whatever it takes to make it happen".

His Commander-in-Chief's tone brooked no argument but Jackson wouldn't have argued anyway, so grave was the situation.

"Thank you sir, they'll be on their way by this evening. I'll send a priority dispatch to Precentor Etherington to let him know to expect reinforcements within the next forty-eight hours".

Cutting the link, he contacted each of the Division commanders in turn, giving them the order to go, before they received the written version via the Defence Ministry's secure messaging system. He felt it was important to speak to them personally, before a mission, to give them the opportunity to ask questions and air concerns, before they addressed their troops. He then contacted the local spaceport, ordering them to bump military traffic to top priority.

The problem wouldn't be getting the troops and equipment ready - the BCAF had an excellent logistics corps – it would be co-ordinating the movement of dropships and jumpships so that each Division's various units departed together and arrived at Wellington together. Since most of the Coalition's shipbuilding resources had been diverted to the Navy, the other service branches were chronically short of jumpships and were heavily reliant on commercial vessels, which could be diverted for use by the BCAF, although this came at a high cost, as the jumpship crews were entitled to compensation for loss of earnings.

* * *

**_101__st_**_** Division Headquarters,**  
**Knightsbridge,**  
**Britannia**  
_  
Precentor James Taplin strode into the briefing room, waving the paper slip he'd torn from the dispatch printer in the Communications room. "Command have finally pulled their collective hands out from under their overfed backsides and given us our marching orders…we're going to Wellington", he said, taking his place at the head of the conference table. There was a murmur of approval from his unit commanders.

"About bloody time too, sir", said one of his more vocal subordinates. He didn't need to say any more. They had been watching the news as keenly as the civilian population of the Coalition, in addition to reading military dispatches for updates from the front-line. The situation on Wellington was becoming increasingly desperate and they were all champing at the bit to help their comrades in arms.

Taplin gave a wolfish grin. "Well chaps, we've been waiting for the chance to do our bit and now we've got it. You know the drill, so let's get cracking. I want us dirtside, kicking some serious arse the day after tomorrow".

There was a rousing cheer, tinged with anger, which perfectly summed up their steely resolve to put an end to the invaders' continued dominance in this war.

* * *

**_77__th_**_** Division Headquarters,**  
**Lewisham,**  
**Britannia**  
_  
In a scene rather different from the one at the ROHC's headquarters, Demi-Precentor Sophie Beaulieu walked quietly up to the lectern in the assembly hall. In her hand she carried a nearly identical slip of paper to the one Precentor Taplin had received. While the atmosphere at Knightsbridge had been one of quiet determination and calm professionalism, here the tension was palpable. Beaulieu sensed the anxiety and expectancy as she surveyed her troops and decided a rallying call was in order…nothing too flamboyant, but something to lift their spirits and galvanise them for the task ahead.

"Well my Lionhearts, our moment is here", she began, holding up the slip, "We have our orders from Westminster. We are to make preparations for a rapid deployment to Wellington to reinforce the 92nd Division". There were some muted cheers at this point and she paused to reflect on the rest of her short speech.

"I know many of you will have been anticipating your first experience of combat with some eagerness, while other will have feelings of trepidation, or even fear. This is perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed of. I won't insult your intelligence by making light of the situation or tell you it will be easy…because it won't. This will be the hardest thing you have ever done in your lives. However, I want you to know that I have complete confidence in you and that I will be proud to serve alongside you in battle. You are all graduates of the Highgrove Academy and have received the best training the Coalition can provide…now it is time to put that training into action. May Blake watch over us and guide us in our endeavours…"

There was a round of polite applause before Beaulieu nodded at the assembled troops and left to begin her own preparations. The rest of the CDL dispersed in an orderly fashion and began the business of making a combined-arms division ready to travel, either chatting animatedly with colleagues or in quiet contemplation, all of them wondering the same things: what would await them when they reached Wellington, would they be able to complete their mission...and what was the likelihood of their safe return?


	18. Noble Strangers

**_Knights Templar Muster Point,  
__25km North East of Birkenhead,  
__St Helens,  
__Britannic Coalition,  
_4th October 3068**

Major Elisabeth DeMarco eased her _Highlander_ to a stop, precisely at the designated co-ordinates and took a long look at her surroundings. Although the scouts, who had already moved on, had reported the area clear of any activity, DeMarco was not in the habit of taking things for granted. To the east and south, the land was untamed wilderness, as far as the eye could see. To the southwest, the capital Birkenhead was a blue-grey smudge against the horizon, almost indistinguishable from the leaden, overcast skies.

As she continued her observations, also scanning her sensor readouts for contacts of any kind, Colonel Benedict di Milo pulled up on her right, fittingly in a _Templar,_ sporting crosses of St George on its shoulder plates. People outside the Order, might argue they simply made the _Templar_ a more inviting target, but every mech and vehicle of the Knights, had at least one painted in a prominent location on the chassis, following a convention that went back many centuries.

"Lady Elisabeth", he said, using a private radio frequency, "It seems we have earned His favour today. I must confess I was certain our approach would be detected, or that we would stumble upon some militia or police force".

"Undoubtedly true, Sir Benedict. However we were aided by the fact this world does not yet have a fully integrated air traffic control system and also that its one regular military unit has been sent to reinforce Wellington. We shall not face any significant threat here".

"According to the briefing they do have a sizeable militia force…I believe they call them the Territorial Army…estimated at regimental strength".

"Armour and infantry only, but they have sufficient numbers to be a threat. We should avoid them if at all possible. Our mission here will be difficult enough, without any additional complications".

Just then a VTOL whirred overhead and began to fly random patterns…presumably wary of the Templars' sudden appearance.

"Ah, we could have done without that", said Di Milo ruefully.

"Indeed. This does make our job that much harder", sighed DeMarco.

* * *

**_Command Vehicle,  
__SHTA Mobile Field Base,  
__Heysham Downs,  
__15km North East of Birkenhead_**

"Sir! Harrier One reports a large mech force, approaching from the North East. Estimate battalion strength! Distance, just under ten kilometres, heading Zero One Three", corporal Rowena Jones called out to her section leader.

"What the hell?" Leftenant Erica Reid, who had been crouched next to a tech, trying to fix a faulty workstation, tried to stand too quickly, stumbled and fell against the offending console, unleashing a stream of curses and nursing a bruised arm. Though the command vehicle was large, space was at a premium, thanks to all the equipment it contained.

"They got an ID?"

"No, sir", said the comms tech nervously. "No recognisable camo schemes or unit markings…just that they all have red crosses on white backgrounds".

Reid frowned in thought, but no immediate explanation presented itself. "Time to intercept?"

"Unlikely to, ma'am", called the Lance Corporal at the plotting table. "On their present course they will bypass our position by at least five kilometres".

"Likely destination or target?"

The plotter shook his head. "Unknown. Extrapolating their current course for the next twenty clicks, puts them around fifteen east of Birkenhead. Nothing of strategic or military value in the area, or along their route…its almost like they're trying not to be spotted".

Reid pointed at the communications tech. "Get the Colonel back here! We've got a bunch of unknown mechs running around out there, who apparently materialised out of thin air and the 201st are en route to bloody Wellington. We're the only force defending this city, so we'd best have some kind of plan!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

* * *

**_Observation Post,  
__SHTA Training Area,  
__Heysham Downs,  
__St Helens_**

Colonel – Command Post on the line, sir! They say its urgent".

Colonel Francis Cullen lowered his binoculars, to see the radio operator holding out a spare headset, preparing to disconnect his own.

He rolled his eyes, "Whats the matter – governor got moles in his garden again?"

The St Helens Territorial Army was a relatively new unit, formed less than six months ago, made up mostly of volunteer civilians, with a sprinkling of retired former Com Guard personnel…Cullen being one such member. Unlike the regular military, they were paid by and answerable to the planetary governor, although special protocols could be instituted that would effectively make them part of the BCAF.

To distinguish them from the regular Coalition military, which was based on the Com Guards, the TA had adopted the more conventional ranking system, used by most other military forces. To begin with, being a member of the TA had been a bit of a laugh, an excuse to get together with mates for a couple of weeks every few months. The most exciting things they got to do were exercises, forming honour guards for the governor and the odd parade. Then had come the attacks on Wellington and Nevis. Governor Wrenshaw had got nervous and ordered the SHTA to a wartime footing, which meant the under-strength regiment had been training solidly for the last month.

They were currently conducting manoeuvres, with the individual battalions learning how to co-ordinate with each other in large-scale engagements. Thus far, Cullen could still see plenty of room for improvement. To make matters worse, the civvies were getting restless, keen to get back to their day jobs and normal lives.

Cullen took the headset and slipped it on, "Cullen here".

He listened intently for several minutes and the radio operator watched as his superior's expression changed from one of boredom to alarm.

Colonel Cullen yanked the headset off and almost threw it at the communications tech. "Issue the recall alert. This exercise is aborted. I want the battalion commanders back at the MFB in fifteen minutes for a rolling briefing!"

* * *

**_20km North East of Birkenhead,  
__St Helens_**

Colonel Di Milo and Major DeMarco listened to the latest report from the Templars' scouts, some two kilometres ahead, with differing degrees of resignation.

"Acknowledged, Spearhead. Hold position and do nothing that may provoke a response. We will rendezvous with you in five minutes".

Di Milo switched to the command channel on seeing his Executive Officer was radioing him.

"It seems the Territorials are preparing to engage us", said DeMarco, a note of anxiety in her voice.

"Perhaps", replied Di Milo, more cautiously. "You cannot blame them for being apprehensive. We will have to handle this with great care".

"Should we increase our pace, to meet up with Spearhead Lance sooner?"

"No, the Territorials may take it as a sign of hostile intent. We shall continue as we are".

* * *

**_SHTA Mobile Field Base,  
__Heysham Downs_**

"Driver, get us moving!", barked Cullen, as the last of the three battalion commanders closed the door behind them.

The command vehicle's huge ICE engine whined into life and Major Anthony Gerrard, 1st Battalion's commanding officer, had to grab a handrail on the nearest console, as the 25-ton armoured vehicle lurched forward.

They left behind them a scene of organised chaos, as the engineering section dismantled the camp in record time and the rest of the troops prepared to follow the command vehicle.

"Comms, contact the governor's office, inform him we have a large, possibly hostile mech force inbound, approximately battalion strength, 20 clicks from the northeast. Advise him enacting Stage 1 evacuation procedures might be a good idea. We are moving to intercept and will advise further when we have more info".

"Aye, sir!"

"Okay gentlemen…and lady", said Cullen, as the four took seats around the holographic plotting table in the rear of the vehicle, "time is short, so lets keep this brief".

"Whats the threat assessment, sir?" asked Major Philippa Carr, commander of 2nd Battalion.

"Unclear at present. Around half an hour ago, one of our air observer units spotted a lance of mechs approximately 12 miles northeast of the city. Latest reports have them holding position at 10 miles".

Major Ellery Buckley, commander of 1st Battalion, snorted. "One lance? Hardly worth getting our knickers in a twist over, is it?"

His unit had been winning the latest round of exercises and the abrupt cancellation had annoyed him.

Cullen's eyes narrowed but he kept his tone even. "Agreed. On their own a single lance of mechs wouldn't present much in the way of a threat. However, just moments later, our observers picked up a much larger force, estimated at battalion size, less than 2 miles behind them".

He paused for a moment, to let that bit of information sink in. from their silence and shocked expressions, Cullen knew all three of his subordinates were now taking this very seriously.

"Do we have any idea who they are and what their intentions are?" asked Carr, the softly spoken officer struggling to make herself heard over the rumble of the command vehicle's engine.

"Negative. They were unable to identify the camo scheme or unit markings. The only thing they noted was that all the units appear to have a red cross on a white background…very similar to the Cross of St George, used by our ancestors on Terra".

That caused three sets of furrowed brows.

"Regardless of who they are and what they want, the fact remains they arrived here unannounced and uninvited. Are we agreed that anyone landing on a planet, without authorisation, bypassing official channels and deploying a large mech force, to boot, cannot have good intentions?"

There was no argument from the others.

"Are you proposing we just ride out and engage them head on, sir?" asked Buckley, still looking puzzled.

"Nothing so foolhardy", Cullen replied, with just the barest hint of exasperation.

He punched a few buttons on the plotting table's control console and a view of the terrain within a 25km radius shimmered into existence in front of them, rotating slowly to allow each of them to see the image from every perspective. A few more button presses and some deft work with the tracker ball, displayed the dispositions of the SHTA and estimated positions of the unidentified inbound forces.

"As you can see, the enemy's…unknown force's…projected course will take them well clear of Birkenhead, our barracks and any other notable strategic targets. However there are a number of small settlements along the route. I propose to stop them before they get anywhere near them".

"Um…how exactly?" This question came from Gerrard. "With the best will in the world, a battalions of tanks and 2 battalions of infantry are not going to stop a battalion of mechs".

"Not on open ground…but fortunately for us, the land around here isn't that open".

Cullen punched some more buttons and various terrain features were highlighted.

"There's dense woodland to the west, the River Wallasey and marshy flood plains to the east, with hilly ground beyond, to deter them making a long detour. The main road to Birkenhead was built along one of the only two flat, level open corridors of ground within 20 miles. They're not heading for the city, so it's a safe bet they'll head along this narrow strip of land between the flood plains and the Birkenhead plateau. I propose we deploy right along it, between the plateau and the river".

"That'll just bottle us up and makes us easy targets!" protested Gerrard.

"What if they decide to simply bypass or flank us?" queried Carr.

Cullen raised a hand to silence the others. "Yes, it does limit our tactical options. Vehicles work better with room to manoeuvre, just as mechs do, but we can still outmanoeuvre them in close quarters".

"Yes, but their weapons will be all the more devastating at close range", noted Buckley.

"That's just a risk we'll have to take". Cullen glanced at Carr, "As to your concerns at the enemy bypassing or flanking us, remember, mechs don't work too well in deep water and if they decide to climb the plateau, it'll slow them down, giving us time to react, if necessary".

"Cover's pretty minimal all along that route", said Gerrard thoughtfully, scrutinising the holomap carefully. "Theres a few places we could use to stage ambushes, if necessary, but for the most part, our units will be very exposed".

"Our heavier units, yes, unfortunately. I don't see a way around that. However, our hovertanks can patrol along the river. They should be able to snipe with relative impunity. Our other fast units can use what cover there is to launch hit and run attacks, harass the enemy and distract them from our heavy hitters".

"If nothing else, our slower units can use the space to retreat and cover each other, while reloading", said Carr.

"That's the spirit!" said Cullen, grinning, "Lets think positive!"

"So where do we draw the line in the sand?" asked Buckley.

"Just here", Cullen replied, jabbing a finger at the holomap, at a point just past where the plateau began to rise out of the surrounding terrain. "We'll take a couple of lances of fast-movers and go and say hello. That way, if they turn out to be unfriendly, we can get the hell out there in a hurry".

He noticed the other three nodding. It wasn't a perfect plan by any means, but it was the best they could do in the circumstances.

**_15km North East of Birkenhead,  
__St Helens_**

The four Pegasus hovertanks tore across the largely flat, featureless terrain at flank speed, roughly line abreast, adjusting position only to dodge obstacles in their path. A hundred metres behind them, a lance of Drillson heavy hovertanks kept pace easily. Despite being fifteen tons heavier, their more powerful engines made them faster.

The Adept leading the Pegasus lance checked their distance to the designated nav point. "Outrider Lead to Lance, we are approaching the nav point, begin deceleration".

Although there wasn't much to run into out here, the tanks were travelling at over 70mph and since they lacked any physical connection to the ground, needed longer distances to stop than a conventional wheeled vehicle.

The drivers eased back on their throttles, allowing the tanks to coast the last few hundred metres. Behind, the Drillsons also gradually slowed to a halt. The Adept in command activated his radio. "Auger Lead to Command, we are in position and awaiting orders. Sensors not showing any hostile contacts, however Harrier One has them five clicks out, advancing straight towards us. Lead units still holding at three".

Two kilometres behind them, the command vehicle struggled to catch up. Despite the relatively flat terrain, the vehicle's large wheels, high ground clearance and soft suspension, combined to created a lurching, uncomfortable ride for all aboard, as it trundled along at its top speed of 50mph.

Colonel Cullen, sat at an auxiliary console, next to the communications station, activated his headset mike. "Command to Auger Lead, hold position. ETA is under a minute. Do not take any action unless provoked, I repeat, act only in self defence!"

"Acknowledged, Command". The Adept relayed the order to the rest of his lance and the commander of the Pegasus lance. He glanced around at the rest of his crew with raised eyebrows. "Well, this should be interesting".

* * *

**_18km North East of Birkenhead,  
__St Helens_**

The _Highlander_ and the _Templar_ continued to move at a steady pace, with the rest of the command lance, a hundred metres ahead of Alpha Company, known as Heaven's Thunder to the Knights. Alpha's scout lance were now visible, the white and silver machines looking almost like statues and standing out clearly against the green and brown landscape.

"It appears we have timed our arrival well", said DeMarco, glancing out of her cockpit window at the _Templar_ to her right.

"As I said, Lady Elisabeth, we simply need to have faith in God and trust in human nature", Colonel Di Milo chided her gently.

His com system beeped, alerting him to an incoming transmission. He switched channels to receive the call.

"Spearhead One to Command".

"Command to Spearhead One, report".

"Two lances of militia tanks have taken up position across our route and are holding position, directly ahead of us, just over one kilometre".

"Acknowledged. Continue to hold position and await further orders".

"Copy that, sir".

Benedict switched back to the private channel he shared with his XO. "Elisabeth, tell the rest of the battalion to hold position here. We will meet the milita force alone. A pair of mechs should not appear overly threatening".

"As you wish, my lord", DeMarco replied.

Behind them, the orderly formations of Knights mechs came to a halt, while their commander and executive officer continued, past the scouts and on towards the militia barricade.

* * *

The command vehicle was just pulling up to the ranks of hovertanks, when the pair of Knights mechs came into view. Cullen, his command staff and the vehicle's crew got their first glimpse of their uninvited guests.

"God, they're big buggers", said Buckley hoarsely, trying not to cough as his throat suddenly went dry.

"Lets hope they come in peace", said Carr quietly.

"Radar's showing the rest of their force is holding position at just over a kilometre out", called the driver. "Seems like they're willing to talk first".

The tension around the plotting table lessened noticeably as the threat of imminent battle faded somewhat. Cullen reminded himself that most of his troops had only ever seen battlemechs from a distance, or on holovids before today.

"Now everyone, lets try not to do anything to upset our visitors", the Colonel said with a mischievous grin and a wink to the others seated around him.

* * *

"I think this is far enough", said Colonel Di Milo, bringing his _Templar_ to a halt, five hundred metres shy of the assembled militia tanks.

"As you wish, my lord", came the slightly puzzled reply from Elisabeth DeMarco.

Sensing some confusion on his XO's part, Di Milo decided to elaborate, "Meeting them on foot should convince them of our honourable intentions, more than words ever could".

"A fair point", DeMarco admitted.

"And leave your sidearm in your cockpit".

"Of course, sir".

The pair powered down their mechs, unbuckled their harnesses, unplugging their cooling vest and helmets, before opening the access hatches, deploying rope ladders and dismounting somewhat clumsily, as the ladders swayed in the stiff breeze that blew across the landscape.

DeMarco grimaced slightly as she jumped the last few feet from the ladder, landing on the soft, slightly muddy ground. She shivered in the chilly air and quickly fastened a heavy white cloak about her shoulders, which insulated her from the worst of St Helen's cold, windy climate.

"Let us go and introduce ourselves", said Di Milo, with a sideways glance at her.

* * *

The Acolyte at the makeshift observation post, halfway up a nearby tree, focused his binoculars on the two figures walking towards them, dragging his attention away from the pair of hulking battlemechs behind them.

"Lookout to Command, they've parked their mechs and they're walking!" he said, his tone incredulous.

Inside the command vehicle, the message was relayed to Cullen and the others, who received the news with raised eyebrows.

"I'm feeling better by the moment", the Colonel said, staring thoughtfully at the plotting table.

He turned back to the comms officer, "Contact Governor Wrenshaw and tell him to keep the evac on hold for now. Tell him our visitors are coming to parley".

Cullen rose from his seat and glanced meaningfully at his three subordinates, "Come on, it would be impolite to keep them waiting".

"Sir?" asked Carr, apparently voicing concerns shared by Buckley and Gerrard.

"Don't worry, if it turns out to be an ambush, you have my permission to throw me in front of their guns", the Colonel said with a grin, as he opened the rear doors and stepped outside.

The other three glanced at each other briefly before following. The quartet walked slowly to the front of the formation of hovertanks and waited the few minutes it took for the strangers to arrive. The pair turned out to be a man and a woman, clad in heavy cloaks, bearing the same red cross insignia on the back, as seen on their mechs. Glimpses of normal mechwarrior's garb showed beneath as they moved. Both were in early middle age, judging from their appearance and both exuded a strange air of nobility that instinctively put the TA officers on their best behaviour. The pair stopped just a few feet away and raised their right hands in an odd, archaic looking greeting, in the style of a priest giving a blessing. The man spoke first.

"Greetings, fellow warriors. I am Colonel Benedict Di Milo, commander of the Knights Templar and this", he said, gesturing to his left, "is Major Elisabeth DeMarco, my executive officer".

"I am Colonel Francis Cullen, commander of the St Helens Territorial Army", said Cullen, imitating the Knights' gestures somewhat uncertainly, "and these are my battalion commanders, Majors Anthony Gerrard, Ellery Buckley and Philippa Carr".

There was a brief, awkward pause before he said, "Would you mind telling us what the hell you're doing here?"


	19. Entrance to the Conflagration

**_Dropship _Heart of Oak**_  
**Inbound Taunton City Spaceport,**  
**Wellington,**  
**Britannic Coalition,**  
**08 September 3068**  
_

"Taunton Control, this is military transport Heart of Oak, 101st Division, requesting clearance to land, ID Romeo Oscar Zero One Alpha".

The pilot paused, awaiting acknowledgement. When none came, he gave a puzzled frown and tried again. Again there was only static to be heard over the com channel. He twisted round in his seat, as much as the harness allowed and looked quizzically at Precentor James "Biggles" Taplin, who was riding in the cockpit jump seat, as was his custom.

Taplin chewed his lip for a moment as he thought. "Keep trying - it might just be atmospheric interference".

The dropship captain resisted the urge to point out that he'd never had this problem on his previous trips to Wellington and began repeating his request for landing clearance.

Several minutes later, the _Heart of Oak_ broke through the last of the cloud cover, nearly ten thousand feet above the continent of Wessex. The planetary capital lay in a roughly circular sprawl beneath them. Even from this distance it was obvious why they'd received no reply from the spaceport.

Nearly half the city was on fire or lay in ruins. Thick palls of black and grey smoke billowed up from the ground, partially masking the bright orange fires that indicated where the battle was still ongoing. There was little left of the spaceport itself, one of the first targets for the unknown invaders. As the dropship descended, it became possible to make out the scene of the desperate fight being waged by the remnants of the Wellington Lancers. They were slowly but steadily being forced to retreat deeper into the city by the enemy force, which appeared to outnumber them at least three to one.

Taplin yanked off the harness that strapped him to the jump seat and got unsteadily to his feet, his face a mask of rage.

"Abort landing!" he said unnecessarily...it wasn't as though they had anywhere to land. "Bring her back up and around behind those bastards! I want to hot-drop right in behind them. Hopefully we can catch 'em with their trousers down and get in amongst them before they realise what's happening".

"Thats fine with me, sir!" replied the pilot, choking back his own anger.

"Radio the Steadfast - I want the 77th positioned a couple of klicks to our rear to provide support if we need it…and sound general quarters!"

"Aye, sir!" the pilot responded.

He punched the button to sound general quarters throughout the ship. As the klaxons blared, crewmen scrambled from their bunks to man their stations. The mechwarriors of the Regent's Own Heavy Cavalry raced to the mech bays and began preparing their machines for combat, not knowing what the emergency was, but confident their CO would brief them in as soon as he joined them.

With some difficulty, Taplin clambered through a series of hatches and ladders to the mech bay and headed for the transit pod containing his own machine - a brand new _AVK-02 Aardvark_ assault mech, a design unique to the Coalition. Weighing in at 100 tons, with a top speed of 53kph and protected by 18 tons of armour, it was the Precentor's pride and joy. Armed with a pair of ERPPCs and twin SRM4 racks in the torso, as well as four medium lasers in each arm, it was capable of dishing out punishment at any range.

Shimmying up the gantry ladder, he sprinted along the walkway that ended at his mech's cockpit and leapt in, while techs scurried this way and that, making last minute checks, completing ammo loadouts and all the other hundred and one things that needed to be done to make a Level III battlemech unit ready for deployment.

As James fastened himself into his command couch and began applying his neurohelmet patches and plugging in his cooling vest, he felt the dropship lurch and sway as the pilot altered course to take them into the enemy's rear. The start-up and system checks were frustratingly slow - as was always the case when he was itching to get into battle and he kept one eye on the rest of his command unit, watching their mechs come to life. After powering up, entering his password and speaking his voice ID code phrase, he toggled his radio and selected the Division's general frequency that would allow the rest of the ROHC, on board the other two Overlord class dropships, to hear him.

"Warriors of the Regent's Own, this is your commander", he began, "On the ground below us are the surviving elements of the Wellington Lancers, who have been fighting the Blakist aggressors for nearly a week now. As you will have seen from the battle reports, they have had their successes...but at a terrible cost".

He paused for a moment, wondering how they would take this next bit of news. "On our way in we were unable to establish contact with the spaceport. Less than half an hour ago we came within visual range of Taunton and found out why. The enemy have driven the Lancers deep into the city and much of it lies in ruin...including the spaceport".

Taplin took a deep breath to calm himself before the final part of his speech. "What we are facing here is an emergency in the most urgent sense of the term. If we do not act immediately, there may well be nothing left to save once we land. I have instructed the pilot to take us behind the enemy's line of advance, from where we will strike at their most vulnerable area and mete out the justice they deserve".

He stopped as a wave of angry cheers and yells filled the radio net. He blinked away tears from his eyes as he realised the intensity of his desire for vengeance upon their unnamed foe, was shared equally by his troops.

The _Heart of Oak's_ bay doors slowly rumbled open and the mech bay was filled with cold, swirling air that whistled and screamed through the fittings and fixtures, as the dropship rapidly descended to jump altitude.

From the relative safety of the control booth, the ship's technician Adept watched intently as the altimeter on the console counted down. With one hand he pressed the mike on his radio headset closer to his mouth, while the other hovered over the switch that would change the jump light from its current red 'wait' status to the green 'jump' mode. "Okay, sir. You know the drill. I'll give you a ten-count before I give the 'go' signal - should give you time to get focused".

"Thank you, Adept Watkins", replied Taplin. He swallowed hard, feeling slightly queasy. Though he had done this many times, hot-dropping always made him nervous. Mechs, he reasoned, were made for stomping around on the ground - not flying. Yet any minute now he would hurl 100 tons' worth of battlemech into the grey-white oblivion outside with just a set of jump pods attached to the Aardvark's legs to stop him making a big crater in the ground. It was unnatural.

He was suddenly aware of the chief engineer's voice in his headset again. "5...4...3...2...1...GO!" The light above the bay doors changed from red to green. It was time.

_Thats all very well for you to say!_ James grumbled inwardly as he throttled up, walking the _Aardvark_ the last few feet to the edge of the bay...and then over. As always, it felt like he'd left his stomach behind on the dropship, while the rest of him plummeted to earth. Having made a low-altitude drop at just five hundred feet he had to activate the jump pods just a few seconds later. There was nothing fancy about them. They were basically miniature rocket boosters that burned high-octane hydrocarbon fuel. James was jolted in his seat as the pods spewed jets of flame from their exhausts, dramatically slowing his descent to a steady, less terrifying rate.

As he risked his first downward glance, he saw to his dismay that the enemy force was already breaking off its attack and small groups of mechs were streaming out of the shattered city, back to their dropships, just visible through the misty haze, a couple of miles away.

It was impossible to keep a division-sized landing discreet and it quickly became obvious they'd been spotted, but James still went through his entire repertoire of curses before he touched down. Impatient to be back on terra firma, he cut the boosters early and hit the ground a little more heavily than he'd have liked. He punched the button to fire the explosive bolts that attached the pods to his mech's legs and they fell away, hitting the damp muddy ground with dull thuds. An emerald laser bolt flashed past his cockpit. He saw reflections of other beams in the crystal clear ferroglass canopy as they hit the _Aardvark's_ torso and arms, doing only cosmetic damage.

As he tried to take in the terrain and get a handle on the tactical situation, he saw another group of mechs emerging from the ruins at the edge of the city. They aimed their weapons at the Heart _of Oak_ and the other dropships as they discharged their cargo of battlemechs. The earth shook, as all around him, the rest of the ROHC landed and began to form up into their respective units. Precentor Taplin smiled with grim satisfaction. It looked like they'd landed right in the enemy's path of retreat. Although they were unlikely to catch the ones who'd already made a break for it, there were still plenty coming towards them who would never make it to their dropships...he would personally see to it.

There was a loud clanging noise and the _Aardvark_ rocked slightly. He glanced up to see an _Orion_, the barrel of its arm-mounted autocannon smoking. With the calm detachment that often came over him during the heat of battle, he noted the upturned broadsword insignia on its torso, arms and legs, as well as the distinctive grey and white camo scheme. More disturbing was the prominent bloody handprint, painted on the right torso. '_What the hell?'_ he thought.

Taplin instinctively loosed off a snapshot with one of the _Aardvark's_ ERPPCs, which missed low and wide, while working the controls to set his mech in a weaving anticlockwise arc, to prevent him being a sitting duck._  
_  
An inner voice spoke to him, _'Listen sunshine, you've got a battle to fight. If you want to live through it, I suggest you get a move on'_. His face became calm and expressionless, although anyone able to look into his eyes would have been unnerved by the terrible, penetrating stare with which he gazed upon the battleground.

Focusing on the _Orion_, whose pilot was trying to line him up for another shot, James dropped his crosshairs over its boxy torso and fired his other ERPPC, the aimed shot carving an ugly scar across its chest. He checked his radio was set to the Regent's Own's command frequency and began issuing instructions. "Gascoigne, take Gamma along the western flank and conduct search and destroy operations...eliminate anything that moves that doesn't have Coalition markings. Hargreaves, move Bravo out to the east and do likewise. I'll work north with Alpha and slam the door on their escape route. We're going to herd these bastards into a steel cage from which there will be no escape".


	20. When the Sky Falls In

**_Birkenhead,_**  
**_St Helens,_**  
**_Britannic Coalition_**

The Knights glanced at each other, before turning back to the militia officers.

"We were requested to come here and assist you, by some long-time allies of ours…I believe you may also be acquainted with them", said Colonel Di Milo.

"The Outer Colonies", DeMarco interjected.

Cullen raised his eyebrows in surprise, "We've not had any dealings with them personally, but I know they co-operated with our forces against the pirates that were harassing the Royalists. From the reports I've seen, they were scarily effective…fielded some top-notch tech as well".

"Indeed", said Di Milo solemnly, "Our experiences with them have been much the same. Very guarded and secretive people, but loyal and honourable".

"All the assets they can spare in this sector are currently tasked with aiding your forces on Britannia and Wellington", said DeMarco. "Unfortunately, the Word of Blake brought several Divisions with them…one of which is due to enter the St Helens system any time now".

The TA officers' expressions changed from curiosity to alarm in an instant and Di Milo raised a hand to forestall any outbursts.

"Our mission here, simply, is to persuade them that attempting to conquer your world is really not in their best interests".

"We mean to drive them off, if possible, but we will not hesitate to destroy them, if we have to", DeMarco added.

"Um…with all due respect, Colonel Di Milo, if they are bringing an entire Division and your force is only battalion strength, don't you think the battle may be a little one-sided?" asked Major Gerrard.

Cullen glanced sharply at the junior officer, "We would, of course, stand ready to assist, Colonel".

Major DeMarco smiled grimly, "We have something of a history of facing down great odds. The Blakists like to boast of their technological prowess, but we have some sophisticated equipment of our own".

Benedict Di Milo smiled at his XO, "Not to mention some of the finest warriors in the Inner Sphere, guided by the hand of God".

The militia officers' expressions changed to scepticism. The Coalition was a largely secular state, with no form of religion gaining any great following.

To forestall any more awkward questions from his subordinates, Cullen asked some of his own. "Could you give us some more background on yourselves? Are you mercenaries? How did you get involved with the Outer Colonies and what's your take on this damn Jihad?"

He was half expecting an angry retort that such things were none of his business, but Cullen needed to know more about these strangers, before he could feel comfortable, entrusting St Helen's security to them.

Instead, Benedict smiled benevolently. "Well, we are the Knights Templar, an ancient Order which can trace its roots back over two millennia, to medieval Terra. We are sworn to defend the…"

He broke off as he noticed DeMarco glaring at him and hastily corrected himself.

"…that is, we are principally a charitable organisation, with missionaries all across the Inner Sphere, bringing aid to the poor and needy".

DeMarco took up the narrative. "Unfortunately, in many cases, our missionaries are required to work in dangerous places, often in war zones, or areas plagued by pirate raids. To enable them to carry out their work safely, a military arm was created, with the aim of establishing peace and security, before aid is distributed".

"Where possible, we work through diplomatic channels to obtain permission, before we begin our work. But, as I am sure you appreciate, that is not always possible…" Di Milo finished.

Cullen nodded understanding, "War is no respecter of circumstance. I imagine you have your work cut out for you these days".

"Actually, since the Blakist conquest began, we have suspended the majority of our work and recalled missionaries from all, but the least active areas", said DeMarco.

"Since we learned those…barbarians, were using weapons of mass destruction, we took the decision that we simply could not ask our operatives to risk their lives in such a way", Di Milo cut in, with barely concealed anger. "They call themselves True Believers and claim to be spreading the light of mankind…blasphemers!"

DeMarco coughed meaningfully, "I would suggest we all begin making the necessary preparations to defend this world". She glanced at Cullen, "If you haven't already done so, I would imagine you will want to evacuate any major population centres, before deploying your forces".

"We are in touch the planetary governor, who has already initiated evac procedures. I just need to inform him to execute the final stage", Cullen replied. "Since you seem set on meeting the Blakists head on, should we deploy for defence of the city?"

"Given that we will be significantly outnumbered, I believe your armour units could play a valuable role in preventing the Blakists flanking us", said Di Milo thoughtfully.

"We have some armour and aerospace assets of our own, but not nearly enough to field as separate units. They will be best deployed as skirmishing forces supporting our mechs", continued DeMarco. She smiled at Cullen, "I believe the terrain here could work to our advantage. Just as you were attempting to constrict our route of advance, we can do the same to them".

"Very well, I shall place my armour units at your disposal and have the infantry execute our urban defence strategy…hell of a time to find out whether it actually works or not".

* * *

**_Observation Post,  
City Hall,  
Birkenhead_**

From the roof of the tall, elegant structure, one could see the last few columns of civilian vehicles, streaming away from the city, towards the sparsely-inhabited northern regions. To the south, it was just possible to make out the Templars' field base. The late-morning sun reflected off the silver parts of their mechs' bodywork. Hidden in the trees, were their tank units, along with those of the SHTA.

Colonel Francis Cullen lowered his binoculars and turned round with great care in the restricted space, as he heard a commotion behind him.

"I'm sorry sir, I can't allow you up here, this is a restricted area".

"I pay your bloody salary so you'd better damn well let me up!"

"Governor – what the hell are you doing here?" Cullen snapped, the mounting tension making him even more short-tempered than usual.

The commotion stopped abruptly as the pair of troopers that had been blocking his entrance, let him through. Nathaniel Wrenshaw, wearing his own set of urban camo fatigues, complete with helmet - visor up, straightened his jacket and carefully stepped over to the Colonel.

"I came to get a sitrep and to see for myself what we're up against".

Cullen suppressed a sigh. "First of all, we can send you sitreps direct to the bunker and secondly, I fail to see how eyeballing the enemy for yourself will in any way change the decisions we make, regarding the defence of the city. Besides, you're going to find it rather difficult to evac with your staff if we need to move in a hurry".

"I have no intention of evacuating", said Wrenshaw, raising a hand to cut off Cullen's response. "I intend to stay here…to the bitter end, if need be. Should our defences not hold, the Blakists will want to speak to the senior authority figure, to accept our surrender. Who knows? Maybe they will allow us to remain here, as long as we agree not to oppose them in any way".

Cullen, who'd had some first-hand experience of the Word of Blake, before fleeing Terra, finally lost his temper. "Just how closely have you been following this bloody Jihad? Do you realise that even if, by some miracle, we manage to fight off their ground forces, they may just resort to orbital bombardment…if we're lucky!"

Cullen took a few steps forward, forcing the governor to stagger backwards and brought his face menacingly close to the other man's. "Do the names Galedon V, Tharkad or Atreus mean anything to you? If half of what we're hearing from the Successor States is true, they used nuclear and biological weapons on those worlds…scoured them clean of life…or tried to anyway!

He took a step back and allowed the other man to regain his composure. "For your information, Word of Blake don't negotiate…they try to crush all those who oppose them. Negotiate a surrender? Don't make me laugh. Do you know what Blakists do to senior opposition figures? I'll tell you. They send them to so-called re-education camps, where they're brainwashed…tortured if necessary…until they become mindless drones for their Cause!", Cullen spat angrily, jabbing a finger at the governor's chest.

"That's what we're fighting against, so if I were you I'd get the hell out of here, back to the bunker with the rest of your staff, so if the worst does happen, at least you'll have some chance of survival".

""Um…I think it's a little late for that", said Wrenshaw quietly, pointing a shaking finger at the sky.

Cullen turned round to see nine patches of cloud glowing orange, lit from above by the drive flares of the Overlord dropships, which broke through the low could ceiling, just moments later.


	21. Deliverance

_**Outskirts of Taunton City,**  
**Wellington,**  
**Britannic Coalition,**  
**08 September 3068**  
_

The enemy came straight at them, without even slowing. There was no attempt at communication. No challenge…not even a brief transmission to identify themselves. All attempts at communication were met with static.

Taplin continued his duel with the _Orion_ that had singled him out. Anxious to end this duel quickly, he floated the pale green crosshairs on his HUD over its protruding cockpit and his finger tightened on the joystick's main trigger. Its pilot dodged at the last second and instead, the _Aardvark's_ twin ERPPCs immolated the armour on its right arm. A flash of light, followed by a flicker of flame and billowing black smoke told James he'd destroyed the medium laser mounted there. Its pilot returned fire with the Luxor autocannon mounted in its left torso, gouging more armour from the _Aardvark's_ torso. Taking a major gamble, James pushed his throttle to the stops and closed the range while his main weapons recharged. Closing to just over two hundred metres, he got a solid lock and fired his paired SRM racks. His view of the battlefield was temporarily obscured as a dozen short-range missiles flew from their launchers, housed in the left and right torso, their exhaust smoke creating a billowing white cloud.

When the smoke cleared, he saw the _Orion_ looking considerably worse for wear. There were craters and blast marks all over its torso – in some places its armour had been completely obliterated. Its stumbled drunkenly, as though the pilot was concussed. At first, James was surprised that he'd been able to inflict that much damage so quickly – then he remembered it had been tangling with the Lancers just minutes earlier.

'_Well done lads. At least you gave them a bloody nose'_, he thought.

His onslaught had probably caused some critical damage, though that didn't stop the pilot trying to fight back. Its autocannon thundered again, its cluster munitions scouring more armour from the _Aardvark's_ torso. On his damage display, several sections had turned red already – reminding him it had been a reckless move to close to missile range.

To his amazement the Blakist followed up with a headlong charge…possibly fearing another missile barrage. In any case, the _Orion_ thundered towards him at its top speed of 64kph. Taplin tried to evade, but his 100-ton assault mech was no match for the 75-ton heavy, in terms of speed or agility. A collision was inevitable. Just seconds before impact, he brought the _Aardvark's_ left arm back and punched the smaller mech straight in the cockpit, with all the force that several tons of steel and myomer could muster.

As the _Orion's_ cockpit disintegrated under the force of the blow, Taplin felt his mech being twisted around. He heard a loud screeching and a rending of metal as the _Aardvark's_ left arm was wrenched off at the shoulder by the momentum of the Blakist's charge. As he was spun around, struggling to keep the mech balanced after the sudden loss of weight, he was able to watch the _Orion_ stumble past him and crash to the ground, a good twenty metres away, his mech's dismembered arm still protruding from the remains of the cockpit.

He tried to block out the computer's chatter, as it informed him of the loss of the arm and its attached medium lasers. Looking out of his cockpit canopy, which now sported a number of spider-web cracks, he stared in shock at the scenes around him. The once orderly lines of the Regent's Own had dissolved under the ferocity of the invaders' desperate fight to escape. Here and there he could see downed mechs, bearing the distinctive (some said showy) white, gold and black livery of the ROHC. More shocking, in some ways, was the number of downed enemy mechs. Their charred, dismembered remains were strewn across the muddy, churned fields almost as far as he could see. There had to be at least a battalion's worth. Casting his gaze further afield, a couple of klicks beyond their drop point, he could see the invaders who had evaded his trap, fleeing, in small groups or alone, back to the hazy grey domes of their waiting dropships.

A distant roar, low and ominous - audible above the chaos surrounding him, made Taplin twist round to the north. Highly visible in the murky grey skies were the drive flares of three dropships.

They were trading fire with the lead elements of the 77th. It seemed Precentor Beaulieu had taken it on her own initiative to try to stop the enemy getting off-planet. The mechs of the Coeurs des Lions were taking a pasting however, their weaponry and armour no match for combat dropships. He made a mental note to have a private word with Sophie later on. He was relieved when their ascent took them out of weapons range. They soon disappeared from sight, hidden by the low cloud cover.

A number of excited cheers on his radio shook him out of his reverie and reminded him of his more immediate responsibilities. His first thought was that his men must have routed the last of the attackers. In fact, it was the arrival of more of them…pursued by a small Lancer force. A ragged-looking group of Word of Blake mechs appeared from the smoke that engulfed the city's northern perimeter, less than a kilometre away. Close behind were an even worse looking band of Lancer mechs. It stirred the Precentor's heart to see their fighting spirit had not been dampened, despite their terrible losses. They fired their remaining weapons into the rear of the Blakist machines, whose pilots seemed more intent on escaping than fighting.

The enemy mechs stopped dead as their pilots sighted the massed ranks of the Regent's Own. It would have looked comical, but for the deadly seriousness of the situation. The Lancer mechs closed quickly, eager to finish off their quarry. Their escape route blocked, the Blakists turned on their pursuers like cornered animals. Although damaged, their machines were still in better shape and a Lancer mech quickly went down under a withering barrage of fire. Taplin's face resumed its steely expression. "Regent's Own – I need three volunteers to come with me…"

An _Awesome_ stepped forward on his left. "Sir, if I may?" asked Jill Gascoigne. She raised one of its arms to point at the Taplin's mech. "With your arm missing, sir, it may be better for someone else to lead the strike. Not only that, but we can move faster".

Taplin thought for a moment, allowing reason to overcome emotion. The loss of his mech's left arm had halved his long-range firepower and his armour was dangerously thin in places. It wouldn't be a smart move to push his luck any further. He sighed. "Very well, Demi-Precentor - carry on".

"Thank you, sir". It was obvious from her tone that Gascoigne was relishing the chance to serve her own particular brand of justice on the invaders.

Just a few moments later, the _Awesome_ was pounding down the wide, muddy track created by the fleeing enemy mechs, followed closely by a _Griffin_, an _Enfield_ and a _Wyvern_. Together they bore down on the distant battle at top speed.

Gascoigne opened fire with her _Awesome's_ trio of PPCs as soon as she was in range, staggering her shots. Her assault had immediate results, as an unfamiliar, small, squat, ugly-looking mech, had its rear armour flayed off by the first two shots. The third evidently hit some critical internal systems and the mech went down heavily in the dirt. It made no effort to get up again. The pilot of the heavily damaged _Polecat_ it had been duelling with raised an arm in salute. He returned the gesture.

Hanging back behind her, Adept Angela Jacobs was putting her _Griffin's_ extended range particle cannon and LRM launcher to good use, severing the arm and peppering the torso of another mech she didn't recognise. This one was taller, blockier and just as ugly. Jacobs wished the BCAF's intelligence arm had been able to obtain more up-to-date info on the newer mechs being produced in the Inner Sphere. In her battles against the Clans, she'd seen plenty of advanced Omnis fielded by the Wolves and Jade Falcons…_Timber Wolfs_, _Mad Dogs_, _Summoners_ and _Hellbringers_ were well known throughout the Inner Sphere. But the machines these Blakists used…she'd seen nothing like them before.

Racing into the fray, eager to play their part, Acolyte Mace Newland in his _Enfield_ and Initiate Ryan Gallagher, piloting the _Wyvern_, were sending streams of pulse laser fire into the backs of two other mechs he couldn't identify. They turned and tried to engage the Regent's Own mechs, but this only allowed the Lancers to press their attack unhindered. Caught in the crossfire, the remaining enemy mechs quickly succumbed to the punishment inflicted on them by the Coalition forces. In rapid succession, they fell to the ground inert. None of the enemy pilots made any attempt to eject or surrender before going down.

Staring at the now quiet battlefield, Precentor Taplin again tried to make sense of what had happened here. He shook his head in frustration as an explanation failed to occur to him. Maybe the Lancers would have an answer. He unstrapped himself from his command couch and gingerly got up on cramped legs. Opening the access hatch in the back of the _Aardvark's_ head section, he clambered out and slowly made his way to the ground, using the hand and footholds built into the mech's back. He took the opportunity to stretch and get a closer, more personal perspective of the battleground while the surviving Lancers slowly made their way over. The largest of them, which he just about recognised as a _Vanguard_, was missing an arm and, judging by its uneven gait, was suffering from a damaged leg actuator.

The small, battle-scarred group came to a halt about fifty metres away. Taplin focused his attention on the _Vanguard_. A 100-ton assault mech - another of the Coalition's own designs, it was also likely to be the commander's mech. A hatch in the bottom of the overhanging cockpit opened and a chain-link ladder unravelled towards the ground. A small, ragged looking figure descended slowly and unsteadily. More than once they lost their footing and almost fell. James hurried over, wondering if he might have to catch the pilot on his way down. In the end he made it without assistance. Taplin was shocked by his appearance. He was dishevelled and looked as though he hadn't seen a shower or a razor in over a week. His haggard face and red-rimmed eyes spoke of days without sleep.

He raised his right hand to his forehead in a weary salute. "Precentor Julian Etherington of the Wellington Lancers", he said. "Very pleased to meet you, whoever you are. I think you just about saved our bacon there".

Although shocked by the other man's appearance, Taplin reminded himself that this was the 92nd Division's commanding officer and that his unit had managed to almost single-handedly drive the invaders off planet, though at a terrible cost. "James Taplin of the Regent's Own Household Cavalry", he said, returning the salute. "Glad we were able to help – even though you already had them on the run".

Etherington stumbled as they made their way to the temporary field base that was already being set up. James caught him and guided him through the entrance of a camouflaged marquee, to a folding chair, into which the exhausted man collapsed. He stared into the middle distance. James could only guess at the thoughts that were going through his head. "I don't think we deserve that much credit", he said, shaking his head. He suddenly fixed Taplin with a hard stare. They could have wiped us out, you know. We'd reached our combat loss grouping…mechs were starting to go down like flies. But all of a sudden they just started to pull back…like they'd done whatever it was they came to do".

James stared at the ground, his mind racing. "Apart from the spaceport, what other places did they target?"

Etherington finished taking a long drink of water from a canteen offered to him by one of the techs. "Local government offices, radio and holovid broadcasting stations. They also made a serious effort to take out the city's HPG facility". He wiped his mouth and joined James in scrutinising the ground. "Whatever they're up to, they want to make sure we can't tell anyone about it".

Taplin screwed his eyes shut and tried to force himself to think clearly. "The HPG facility…did they manage to destroy it?"

"No…the hyperpulse generator's still intact, though it's not for lack of trying on their part. I lost half a dozen mechs and as many tanks, defending the station. The building took a pounding, but the equipment's still intact. The only real damage they did was to the transmitter array. Being in such an exposed position, it was an easy target and they managed to completely wreck it, so we're not going to be sending any more messages until we can get a new array built".

"Dammit!" Taplin smacked his fist into his thigh in frustration. "The Alliance regiment is still another couple of days away and we've no way of calling for help for at least as long. Until then, we're all that's standing between Wellington and these bloody Blakists".


	22. Making A Stand

**_Pendercorp HQ,  
Anfield,  
St Helens,  
Britannic Coalition_**

Joseph Pendergrass sat back in his chair, hands clasped together as if holding a gun, the extended forefingers forming the barrel, tapped against his chin. "Are they sure they want to do this…I mean, do they have the faintest idea what they're getting into?"

Captain Joe Rogers, survivor of the Black Isle incident and recently promoted to head of Pendercorp's security force, shook his head solemnly. "None of them have any actual combat experience, but a few have seen limited military service…the rest just want to do their bit and fight for their homes".

Roger's executive officer, Lieutenant Melissa Stevens, another of the handful of survivors, cut in. "You can't blame them, sir and lets not forget who else we're fighting for here".

There were a few moments of silence, as all three reflected on the chain of events that had brought them here. Having originally founded his company on Epsilon Eridani in the Chaos March, Pendergrass had built a thriving business…until the Word of Blake had arrived – apparently at the governor's request, replacing Comstar personnel and Com Guard forces in a non-violent takeover. The problems had begun when the WoB Precentor in charge ordered Pendercorp to suspend all contracts with the Successor States and to begin producing new mechs for the Blake Guard Militia.

Pendergrass, honourable man that he was, had refused point blank to break his existing contracts. This had resulted in a visit from the BGM military police, who'd attempted to serve an eviction order, removing Joseph and his employees from the premises. They had been promptly escorted off the grounds at gunpoint by Pendercorp security staff. Just days later, half a dozen Blake Guard mechs had arrived on site and the acolyte in command had issued a final warning over his mech's external speakers. While employees across the site fled for cover, Pendergrass had sent an order to the proving grounds, where a company of mechs were undergoing trials just a few hundred metres away. The test pilots had responded in double-quick time, arriving to encircle the Blakists.

This had led to a standoff, with the Blakists refusing to back down, but holding fire, while waiting for reinforcements to arrive. Fearing the complete destruction of his facility, not to mention the deaths of dozens, possibly hundreds of employees, Pendergrass had given the order to evacuate the facility, taking only what equipment could easily be loaded onto vehicles.

One Blakist pilot made the mistake of opening fire on the convoy leaving the plant. The unit had promptly been set upon by the test pilots, all of whom had been testing heavy Lancer series mechs. The mixed light-medium Blakist Level II was quickly decimated in a short, but brutal battle. Reinforcements had arrived not long after and the test pilots fought a rearguard action, allowing the convoy to reach the spaceport intact. Despite being outnumbered nearly three to one, they fought to the last man to hold the Blakists at bay.

In the end it was Pendergrass' fleet of dropships and privately owned jumpship that saved them, their pilots ignoring the spaceport's orders to abort takeoff. With no warship presence, the Blakists scrambled aerospace fighters to try and stop the jumpship leaving the system, but to no avail.

Fearing discovery by Blakist ROM agents, they fled for the Periphery and several months later, they unknowingly entered Royalist Alliance space. Overjoyed at finding such a highly civilised nation, outside the influence of the Successor States, Pendergrass used a large part of his personal fortune to purchase a site on Black Isle, where he had hoped to rebuild his business. For nearly a year, it seemed they had put their troubles behind them. Then had come the attack…it had been Epsilon Eridani all over again.

The inquiry that followed never did reach a decision. Despite all indicators pointing to the Word of Blake, it had proved impossible to obtain any solid evidence as to who the perpetrators were. In any case, it had been abandoned, following the attacks on the Coalition, as the various jurors and other officials had headed back to their homeworlds to prepare for possible attacks.

Now it seemed they were facing a third battle for survival. He could hardly blame his new employees for wanting to defend their homes and besides, he was tired of running, tired of living in fear. If the Blakists were to finally take revenge on him here, then so be it. There was always a chance the local militia and their allies might emerge victorious and if his people could help in any way, then he was happy for them to do so.

Joseph Pendergrass sat upright and placed his hands on his desk with a loud thump. "Very well, if they are set on joining the fight, I will not stand in their way". His gaze went from Rogers to Stevens and back, looking each of them in the eye. "Are you sure you want to be the ones that lead them into battle?"

"Sir, as head of the PSF, its my duty to command them in battle. Only difference is we're fighting for a planet, instead of a company, which just increases the responsibility…no offence, sir".

Joseph smiled, "None taken. Do you know where you're heading on this death or glory mission of yours".

Rogers smiled back. "I've heard there's going to be plenty of action around Birkenhead".

"Where did you hear that?"

"From some of the evacuees who were looking for someplace to stay around here".

"If there's nothing else, sir, we really should get going", said Stevens.

Pendergrass stood as the pair turned to leave. "Good luck and god speed to both you and the men and women under your command".

* * *

**_Knights Templar Field Base,  
10km South of Birkenhead,  
St Helens_**

"Sir, radar's picking up a number of contact approaching from the north west – no transponder or other ID signatures".

The tech sergeant in charge of the command post leaned over the junior tech's shoulder, "What in god's name…?" he wondered aloud.

He didn't wonder for long. "Comms, contact Gabriel and have them do a recon flight over these co-ordinates".

"Aye, sir".

The Templars' aerospace unit was already running patrols in anticipation of Blakist air strikes. On receiving the new orders, a pair of _Lightnings_ were dispatched to investigate the new contacts. The news they sent back didn't make things any clearer.

"Gabriel Lead to Command, I'm seeing a mech force, estimate company strength, proceeding on a south-easterly bearing, about ten clicks out. Their present course will take them directly to your position".

The pilot paused for a moment and when he continued, sounded a lot less sure of himself. "Command, I don't recognise any these mechs…as far as I can tell, they aren't wearing any colours or markings. Recommend you deploy a guard force to intercept".

The tech sergeant felt his stomach knot just a little tighter. As if it wasn't bad enough waiting for the inbound Blakist division, now they had an unknown mech force approaching from their western flank.

"Comms, get hold of the Colonel and let him know we've got some gatecrashers".

Colonel Di Milo listened incredulously as the news came in. He cut the link as the call ended, heaving a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose. If these new arrivals turned out to be hostile, then his Knights and the local militia would have more on their plates than they could handle.

"Do you wish me to take some Knights and go and greet our uninvited guests?" asked DeMarco, when he briefed her on the situation.

"No, I shall contact Gamma Company. They are closest and best placed to deal with them, if they turn out to be unfriendly".

Captain Francisco Abelardo listened intently to the instructions from his commanding officer, before acknowledging his orders and switching to Gamma Company's general frequency.

"Sentinel to all units, we have an unidentified force approaching from the northwest…transmitting co-ordinates and nav points now". He punched a button on his console to send the data he'd received from Di Milo, to his troops.

"We are to intercept, identify and determine their intentions. If necessary we are to engage and destroy them".

The twelve mechs of Gamma Company, known as The Faithful, moved out from their designated position on the Knights' western flank and moved out to meet the inbound force.

Di Milo activated his radio again, selecting the channel dedicated to their allied forces. "Gawain to Bedivere, be advised we have an unknown force approaching from the northwest. I have sent Gamma Company to intercept. Stand by to cover their position in case the Blakists reach us before they return".

In the command seat of his _Ontos_, Major Buckley smiled and shook his head at Colonel Di Milo's choice of call signs. "Acknowledged Gawain, First Battalion standing by".

"Captain, sensors are picking up twelve contacts, just over a kilometre out, moving in a loose formation and heading straight for us. Computer classifies them as battlemechs but cannot identify the model!"

Behind his dark-visored neurohelmet, Abelardo's eyebrows arched in surprise as he digested that bit of news from the scout lance. "Sentinel to all units, spread out and take up mutually supporting positions. Do not target them yet, but stand by in case they turn out to be hostile".

The mechs of Gamma Company increased the distance between each lance and staggered their formations, so that those in the lead were covered by those behind.

Abelardo switched his radio to an open frequency. "This is Captain Francisco Abelardo, of the Knights Templar, to the inbound mech force on vector Zero Nine Seven from Birkenhead. Please identify yourselves immediately or be considered hostile. We are under orders to respond with deadly force, if necessary".

Captain Joe Rogers' _Lancer Prime_ Omnimech had just crested a low ridge, to come into visual range of the Knights, when the open broadcast had sounded clearly in his radio earpiece. On seeing the Templar unit blocking their intended route, he instinctively brought his mech to a halt. The rest of the Pendercorp pilots followed suit without needing an order…even Melissa.

"Captain Abelardo, this is Captain Joseph Rogers, commander of this detachment of the Pendercorp Security Force. My employer's headquarters are only a short distance from Birkenhead and he has authorised us to assist the local militia in any way we can".

Abelardo felt the knot of tension in his gut ease just a little. "If you are indeed here to assist, then I am sure Colonel Di Milo will be only too happy to add your force to our ranks. However, our computers do not recognise your mechs and you do not appear to be wearing any colours or unit designations. How can we be sure you are who you claim to be?"

Rogers laughed. "That's not surprising Captain Abelardo. These are brand-new designs, just off the production line. We like to take 'em out on the test range with just a base coat, before we paint 'em up for the customer. Guess whoever bought this batch will have to wait a little longer for their order".

Abelardo gave a mental shrug. It was a plausible enough story and these newcomers hadn't made any hostile moves whatsoever. "So, you are running mechs without any security protocols?"

"Exactly. We leave that part to the customer…unless they specify otherwise. Just had time to calibrate our neurohelmets".

"And these shakedown runs…they went well?"

Rogers laughed again. "Nary a hitch or glitch. As the boss likes to say, we build the best quality mechs in the Periphery. We're locked, loaded and ready to go".

"Very well then, please follow us back to our field base. Colonel Di Milo will brief you on the situation and give you your orders".


	23. Moment of Betrayal

**Regent's Office, Blenheim Palace,  
Westminster, Britannia,  
Britannic Coalition,  
The Periphery,  
29 September, 3068**

It was six in the morning and William Sandringham was hunched over his desk, a half-finished cup of coffee cooling beside him. His chin cupped in his left hand, elbow resting on the desk, while his right tapped keys on his desk computer, scanning through the latest reports from SIS and Section 13, the State and military intelligence agencies. He gave a tired sigh. The lengthy reports contained a lot of speculation, while telling him little of any real value. State Intelligence Service, mostly made up of former law enforcement operatives, was hopelessly out of its depth, though he couldn't fault them for effort. The news from Section 13, staffed mostly by former ROM agents, was slightly more positive. They had come to the conclusion that none of the Clans would likely even know of the Coalition's existence, much less consider it a viable target…not when they had to pass through the Royalist Alliance first. He gave a snort of annoyance. What they didn't explain was how these invaders had discovered the Coalition in the first place!

About the only good news was that the police and local militias were reporting a marked decrease in the number of protest rallies now being organised on Liverpool and other worlds throughout the Coalition. Full-blown riots were now a rare occurrence. It seemed that the people's antipathy and restlessness was dying as quickly as it had arisen. He shook his head. Why this was so, he hadn't a clue, but he was content to be grateful for small mercies while he and his government grappled with the much larger and more immediate problem in the northern Caledonia province.

* * *

**Deputy Director's Office,**  
**SIS Headquarters, Chancery House,**  
**Westminster, Britannia**

SIS is one of those organisations that every state in the Inner Sphere (and some outside) has. It never really sleeps, because the intelligence gathering business doesn't do "office hours". Whatever the time, night or day, people were always coming and going from "The Cellar" as employees had nicknamed it. This early in the morning though, was one of the quieter times, with just the agents who'd drawn the graveyard shift and security patrols giving the rather sterile-looking polycomposite and ferroglass structure some semblance of life.

On the top floor of the three-storey building, a dim glow came from one office on an otherwise deserted floor. A figure, mostly hidden in shadow, stood by the window, so that the pale morning light coming through the blind lit the pages of the report it held in it's hands. The figure gave a disgusted snort, screwed the paper into a ball and tossed it angrily into the waste bin next the desk, where it joined a number of identical paper balls. It seemed his attempts to foment a rebellion against the government had come to nothing. For the last three months, the small group of former ROM agents he'd selectively recruited into SIS had been spreading carefully prepared disinformation throughout the Coalition news services, in a propaganda war aimed at discrediting Regent Sandringham and his government lackeys.

He'd not expected to start a full-blown revolution, but he'd at least hoped to create a sustained period of confusion that would throw the worlds of the Coalition into chaos, leaving them vulnerable to attack. Instead the civil unrest seemed to be fizzling out after mere weeks – thanks largely to the Regent's surprisingly skillful handling of the situation. His frequent public appearances and rousing speeches had soothed the frayed nerves of a jittery populace and instilled belief in both their leaders and themselves. He took a deep breath and reminded himself it was of little consequence. When the time came, nothing their vaunted head of state could do would stop the Master from fulfilling His destiny. That time was at hand.

The figure took two large strides to the desk and plonked itself down in the large, padded swivel chair, facing the glowing flat-screen monitor, which provided the only light in the otherwise dark room. It tapped out a series of commands to bring up an ultra-secure, hyper-encrypted government version of the public access system that had been developed to allow citizens to send and pay for HPG transmissions, from the comfort of their homes and offices. The person typed out a brief message in plain text that would mean absolutely nothing to anyone but the recipient, followed by an authorisation code that would be erased from the system records soon afterwards. Finished, the figure logged out of the system and began clearing the computer system's history record to remove any traces of activity.

* * *

**Bletchley HPG Station,**  
**Milton Keynes,**  
**Britannia**

The Adept on duty did a double take when he saw the authorisation code. His pulse quickened and his throat went dry as he recognised the identity of the sender. Following the usual procedure for priority messages, he cleared the current transmission queue and downloaded the compressed data packet into the system for immediate delivery. He input co-ordinates that would send the hyperpulse beam into an uninhabited system just beyond the borders of the Coalition, right on the limit of the HPG's transmission range. With the message sent, he removed any trace that it had ever been in the system and re-started the flow of normal messages, waiting to be prioritised, paid for and sent. However, for the rest of the day he was unable to shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, as he wondered about the true consequences of his actions. As he sat in the canteen, during his lunch break, contemplating his Caesar chicken sub and wishing he had the appetite to eat it, his mind drifted back to when it had all begun, three years ago when he'd had to report for a routine security check.

**SIS Headquarters,**  
**Chancery House, Westminster,**  
**Britannia,**  
**November 11, 3065**

Adept Sheridan Joyce felt a chill run down his spine as he walked through the sliding doors and into the foyer of Chancery House. His pace slowed as he walked along the short corridor, towards the inner set of doors. He glanced around surreptitiously at the walls and ceiling. There were banks of scanners built into them, which scanned all entrants for weapons and explosives. SIS personnel identified themselves, using the retina scanner at the entrance, which allowed them to carry weapons without setting off the security system.

Although he was unarmed, he half expected alarms to go off and for the armoured blast doors at either end to come slamming down, trapping him in place.

To his relief, nothing of the sort happened. Entering the foyer, he walked over to the duty desk.

"I'm here for my annual security assessment – I'm assigned to the Bletchley HPG facility", he said to the uniformed officer behind the desk. '_The Civil Protection Division aren't the ones you have to worry about'_, he thought. _'Its the State Security operatives, who look and behave like the average man, or woman in the street…right up to the moment they shove a gun in your back and tell you not to make a scene'_.

"Name?" the officer asked in a pleasant enough tone, although her manner clearly conveyed his level of importance to her. His informal jumpsuit with its rank and unit insignia would tell her the rest of what she needed to know.

"Sheridan Joyce", he replied in a similar tone.

The CPD officer tapped briefly at her computer's keyboard, before glancing up at him, "Okay Mr Joyce, Assistant Director Padgett is ready to see you".

Joyces' heart skipped a beat. _'Assistant Director? What the…?'_

"Um…I think there's been a mistake", he said, just managing to keep his voice level. "I'm only here for…"

"No mistake Mr Joyce", she said with a shake of her head, "the Assistant Director will be conducting your assessment. His office is on the third floor, last door on your right as you exit the lift".

Taking a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and not think too much about what might be waiting for him on the third floor, Joyce walked over to the elevator bank, slapping the call buttons on all three control panels. The right hand side one arrived first. He stepped in to the empty car and jabbed the third floor button. The low whine of the lift's running gear was his only companion on the thirty-second trip. The car decelerated gently to a halt and the doors slid open almost silently.

Stepping into the shadowy and eerily quiet corridor only increased Joyce's apprehension. He made his way to the end office with all the enthusiasm of a man on his way to his own execution. He knocked on the door, trying to stifle his growing feeling of panic rising.

"Enter", said a grim-sounding voice from within.

Bracing himself, Sheridan turned the handle and walked in.

The office of an Assistant Director of SIS was certainly more austere than he'd imagined. Sparsely furnished, about ten feet by fifteen, it was dominated by a large glass-topped, metal-framed desk in the centre. Storage racks against the back wall held data disks, files and mysterious boxes. On the wall beside him was a large framed holograph of a figure he instantly recognised as Jerome Blake. Against the wall on the far side was a small, low table, flanked by a pair of chairs. It was to these that the man behind the desk directed him, rising from the black, executive-style swivel chair in which he was seated. He was a tall, sparsely built man, possibly in his late fifties or early sixties. His rugged features were deeply tanned and lined, as though every wrinkle carried with it a secret of great burden. His thick, silver hair had been neatly cropped into a short, spiky style, matched by his neatly trimmed moustache. He wore a simple black jumpsuit with no rank insignia or other markings. His dark, deep-set eyes regarded the younger man thoughtfully.

"Good morning, Adept Joyce. I trust your journey here was without incident?"

"Sir", replied Joyce, nodding respectfully. '_Since when did senior officials start dressing like field operatives?'_ he wondered.

The Assistant Director smiled as he sat down opposite Sheridan. "Please, I'm not one for standing on ceremony, call me Damon…or Mr Padgett if that's too informal for you".

"Mr Padgett", said Joyce, nodding again.

"I'll level with you", said Padgett as he poured coffee for himself and his guest, "You're not here for your annual security screening. I requested your interview be re-scheduled so I could conduct one of my own".

Padgett paused, as if unsure how to continue. "My department has been monitoring all members of our Order and accessing their service records, in search of candidates for assignments of the utmost importance".

He leaned back in his chair and paused for dramatic effect, "Your name came up on our list of potential members for our new…task force", he said, apparently savouring the sound of the last two words.

"And what would be the purpose of this task force?" queried Joyce, his eyebrows raised.

Padgett smiled broadly. "I will come to that in good time", he said with evident humour. "First there are a few questions I must ask you".

Joyce shrugged, his earlier tension ebbing away, "Fire away".

The older man gave a small smile. "Okay, let's start with an easy one. Do you believe in the unerring truth of Blake's divine wisdom?"

Joyce barely had to give a moment's thought. "Of course", he said frowning slightly.

A sense of uneasiness began to creep over him. There was something unsettling about the Director's sudden change in his use of language and the penetrating stare he was now directing at the younger man.

"What are your feelings on Primus Mori's efforts to reform our Blessed Order?"

Joyce's eyes widened and his mouth opened and closed a few times like a landed fish as he tried to frame a response. '_What the hell?'_ He thought, trying to organise his thoughts. '_What_ _kind of an interview is this?'_

Director Padgett continued to watch him intently.

"Well, I…I believe the Primus believes she is acting in the best interests of the Order…" he began.

The Director's mouth gave the slightest twitch at one corner. "But…?"

'_Shit! What have I got myself into?'_ Joyce cursed inwardly. '_Well, it doesn't matter now…I've already as good as told him where I stand'_.

He gave a resigned sigh and leaned forward with his hands clasped tightly in his lap to stop them shaking. He screwed his eyes shut and blurted out what he had been longing to say for years.

"I believe the restructuring of the Order and the elimination of many of our long-held traditions, by the Primus and the First Circuit has caused us to stray from the true meaning of Blake's teachings".

He paused for breath, unable to believe what he'd just said. It was too late to turn back now though, so he carried on. "Allowing people outside the Order to have such free, unrestricted access to HPGs and other cutting-edge technology, increases the possibility of its misuse and abuse and weakens our ability to safeguard that which we have protected for so long…a folly which was further compounded by the disbanding of ROM".

Joyce could feel his face was flushed and sweaty with a mixture of nerves, exhilaration and relief at finally letting out something he had kept bottled up for so long. Finished, he glanced up at Padgett to see his reaction.

The old man was smiling strangely. "What would you say if I told you that there are people who can help our misguided superiors see the error of their ways?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" the Adept replied. "Hang on a minute…_our_ superiors?" he asked, finally catching the significance of the Director's words.

"Exactly what I said", old man had said, now showing a hint of impatience. "You, along with many others, wish to return to the true teachings of the Sainted Blake. I have contacts with people who are in a position to make that happen. All I ask in return is one small favour…"

The realisation hit Joyce like a gauss slug._ 'Saint Jerome! This man is working for the Word of Blake!'_

Even as his blood ran cold with the knowledge, a part of him rejoiced. "And that is?" he asked, certain he would be assigned a task that would place him in grave danger.

The old man smiled. "Merely that you transmit messages for me from time to time. They will, of course, be highly sensitive and highly classified. They must be allowed to circumvent the usual security checks. That is where you come in…"

The Adept swallowed nervously. He was sweating despite the air conditioning. It was as he'd expected. He would be expected to breach security protocols, commit potentially treasonous acts by allowing messages to pass through the system unverified. If he were caught, it would mean being busted back to Initiate at the very least. At worst…that didn't bear thinking about. But if it meant a return to the old ways, it was a risk he was willing to take. Besides, he was good enough not to get caught…wasn't he?

As Joyce came out of his daydream, the sounds of the canteen intruded on his thoughts once more. They didn't stop the final scene from playing out in his mind, however. He saw himself staring across at the SIS / Blakist agent, remembered how his mind had raced with visions of a new order. He'd simply nodded at the man who'd called himself Padgett. The older man had risen from his seat, indicating the interview was over.

He'd briefly clasped Joyce's hand. "May Blake's will be done" had been his parting words.

They echoed in his head now. It had seemed the right thing…the only thing to do at the time. So why did he now feel like he'd made the biggest mistake of his life?

He glanced down at his lunch and grimaced, his appetite having well and truly vanished. Sheridan stood up abruptly, grabbed the bottle of energy drink he'd bought to go with his sandwich and left the canteen, suddenly feeling the need for some fresh air and solitude.


	24. Enemy At The Gates

**BGS** Bismarck_,  
_**Uncharted System,**  
**The Periphery**  
**30th September, 3068**

The Acolyte hurried from the cramped HPG station, just aft of the bridge. Although it was a prestigious post, he hated working there. _McKenna_ class ships had not been designed with interstellar communications in mind and the retrofitting had been a rush job, with scant attention paid to creature comforts. It didn't do to take too much interest in what you saw while doing your job. Nevertheless, the latest message he'd just downloaded had left him awash with curiosity. Unable to read it (only the captain's verigraph would activate the decryption program to translate it into plain text) the 'Flash Priority – Eyes Only Commander' header was rare enough that he knew it had to be something special. He could almost feel the noteputer burning a hole in the depths of his robe pocket, as he made the brief trip along the narrow walkway to the bridge, dodging fellow techs as they went about their work.

Tapping the open/close touch-pad, he waited for the door to slide into its recess before hurrying over to the large holotank, which dominated the centre of the bridge. Demi-Precentor Fabien Truscott, the _Bismarck's_ commanding officer was there, deep in conversation a tall, robed figure, whose face was hidden in the depths of the robe's hood.

"We just received this priority message from Britannia, sir, from a source named Machiavelli", the Acolyte said, retrieving the noteputer from his robe and holding it out to Truscott. The ship's commander turned from the glowing green display, where he'd been reviewing data on the fleet's combat readiness and took the device with a nod of thanks.

At the mention of the ROM agent's codename, the hooded figure started briefly and half turned to face him, before visibly checking itself, returning instead to study the data scrolling down an electronically generated window in one of the holotank's walls.

As he awaited a response from his superior, the Acolyte tried, unsuccessfully, to get a better look at the figure standing a few feet away. The robes marked him as a senior Precentor, but without seeing the man's face, he had no way of telling who it was.

Truscott looked up from the noteputer, seeming almost surprised to see the messenger still there. "Thank you, dismissed", he said, tossing a half-hearted salute before resuming reading.

The Acolyte gave the briefest of pauses, before returning the salute much more formally and heading back to his post, giving an award-winning performance in hiding his disappointment at not getting even an inkling of the contents of the message.

The hooded figure turned slowly as the Acolyte left, one gloved hand outstretched. Truscott wordlessly handed over the noteputer, before taking a discreet step back. The man commanding this operation had a reputation for a volatile temper.

Instead, a few minutes later, the figure gave a derisive snort. "I should have known. That fool Rasiak never did grasp the finer points of human psychology. He never fully appreciated the importance of learning what motivates them, or how to inspire specific emotions".

He looked up briefly and stared at Truscott, shaking his head. "It takes a sound understanding of the human mind in order to be able to manipulate people...a skill in which our friend is lamentably lacking. Granted he's a fine planner when it comes to insurgency work, but all his attacks accomplished were to get the people scared. No matter. His failure simply presents us with an opportunity to earn greater recognition in service to the Order". His last sentence was delivered with more than a trace of smugness.

Sensing his superior's good mood, the Demi-Precentor decided to risk some impertinence. "If I may ask, sir, how come you did not enter our Blessed Order's Omega branch?"

The hood once again rose in his direction. With the man's face hidden in shadow, it was like looking into a black hole…very disconcerting.

"Simply, because I am better able to serve the Order in my current capacity. Had I not succeeded in becoming an officer in the Guard, however, the intelligence service would have been my second choice".

The figure handed the noteputer back. "Now, signal the fleet and prepare to jump to the Britannia system". Truscott could hear the undisguised glee in the Precentor's voice. "It is time to bring our wayward lambs back into the fold…"

"Blake's will be done", Truscott replied, saluting smartly before heading off to his bridge station to issue the jump order to the fleet.

Left alone at the holotank, the hooded figure gave an unseen smile as it worked the controls to bring up a star chart showing the Britannia system. The gloved index and middle fingers of its right hand hovered over the fourth planet, the Coalition capital, in the manner of a priest's blessing. "May the peace of Blake be upon you…Precentor William Sandringham", it said in a soft tone, heavily laced with menace.

The _Bismarck_ was currently maintaining orbit around the weak M-class sun at the heart of this uninhabited, god-forsaken system. Accompanying her were the Potemkin class troop cruiser _Righteous Fury_ and the Vincent Mk42 corvette _Light of Redemption_. A pair of destroyers - the Lola III _Swift Justice_ and the Essex class _Sword of Deliverance_, completed the task force. They had been on station for two weeks, making a scheduled stop to deploy their sails and recharge their jump drives.

One by one, the ships' sails began to furl, as the order was transmitted throughout the fleet, the crews working frenetically to prepare for a hyperspace jump. A little under two hours later, the final preparations were complete. Demi-Precentor Truscott stood at the command station, gripping the handrail and affecting an air of bravado, while the rest of the bridge crew were strapped into their seats.

He gave his second-in-command a sidelong glance. "Are jump preparations complete?"

"Co-ordinates are set, KF drive is fully charged and all personnel are at their posts, sir", the Adept replied.

"Very well, begin the ritual", Truscott replied, nodding acknowledgement.

"Aye, sir".

The Adept hit a button on his console, setting off an electronic klaxon throughout the ship, warning of an imminent hyperspace jump.

All through the ship, the crew stopped whatever they were doing and bowed their heads, to recite the centuries-old prayer, invoking the hand of Blake to guide them on their journey and seeking His blessings, both for the safety of their ship and the success of their mission.

On the bridge, the scene was much the same, with Truscott and the mysterious hooded figure, along with the rest of the bridge crew, either whispering the same prayer or reciting it soundlessly in their heads.

The ritual over, the Adept raised his head and looked over at his commander. Truscott simply nodded at him, before walking over to the main viewscreen. As he stared out at the vast blackness, littered with pinpricks of light, he was filled with a mixture of excitement and trepidation…sensations he experienced at the beginning of every mission he'd ever been part of.

His thoughts were interrupted by the Adept's barked commands to the helmsman.

"Helm, prepare to jump on my mark!"

There was a brief pause that, Truscott was sure, was down to his Number Two's flair for drama.

"Mark!"

The helmsman typed in the final command at his console and, following a pregnant pause as the KF drive's capacitors discharged their power into the drive core, vision became blurred and time distorted as the ship entered the surreal realm of hyperspace.

The other four captains followed suit and one by one the ships vanished from sight, leaving no trace that they had ever been there.


	25. Ultimatum

**BCS** Samuel Hood_,  
_**Patrol Orbit, Britannia,**  
**Britannic Coalition,**  
**30 September, 3068**

"Holy shit!" the sensor operator breathed quietly to herself, as a number of large infrared blooms appeared on her long-range scanners. She punched buttons and typed in commands to her computer terminal to run diagnostic programs, sure there was a glitch with the system.

"No way!" she exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief as the diagnostics pronounced the sensor suite to be bug-free.

"Demi-Precentor", Adept Samantha Reid called, turning around to get the attention of the _Hood's_ XO. "Sir, I think you'd better have a look at this", was all she said, still wondering if, perhaps there was something wrong with the readout.

Ross Calderwood glanced over at her from his bridge station, mildly surprised at this unusual display of theatrics. Sam Reid was not one to make a fuss over nothing.

He walked the short distance to her station and leaned over her shoulder. He instantly saw her cause for concern and his eyes widened slightly. "I take it you've run system diagnostics to check this isn't a glitch", he asked, knowing she probably had, but needing to ask the question all the same.

"Yes, sir", replied Reid, patiently. I've checked the calibration and scan parameters…everything checks out. If these readings are correct, we have several – maybe five – warships inbound".

She stared up at Calderwood, "Isn't that Alliance regiment due in-system soon, sir?"

"Yes, but not for another couple of days... Besides, while they may have their own jumpships, I'd be very surprised if they were given their own naval escort as well".

As they watched the display, the IR blooms expanded into the unmistakeable jump signatures of five warships. Two were noticeably larger than the rest.

"Blake's Blood", Sam breathed, "I've never seen a bloom like that, sir", she said, indicating the largest of the quintet.

"I have", Calderwood said quietly, an icy ball materialising in his stomach. "There's only one warship big enough to make a jump wave like that…"

* * *

**BGS** Bismarck_,  
_**Britannia System,**  
**Britannic Coalition**

Time accelerated to its usual speed and vision returned to normal. Truscott was just getting over the disorientation he always experienced with hyperspace travel, when a call from the sensor operator distracted him from his discomfort.

"Demi-Precentor, I have a large warship, bearing Zero One Three, range One One Four Zero!" called the Acolyte, meaning there was a vessel almost directly ahead of them, a little over eleven hundred kilometres away.

Truscott thought quickly. Although they were not yet within weapons range, it would be prudent to take precautions.

"Adept Xavier, sound General Quarters!"

"Aye, sir!"

The Adept punched a button on his console to sound the 'battle stations' alarm and an electronic wailing sounded throughout the ship. The normal overhead lights were replaced by pale blue lighting. All through the ship, weapon crews scrambled to their stations, techs assembled into damage control parties and all non-essential personnel ran for their quarters.

Truscott turned to glance at the figure by the holotank, half hidden in shadow. The mission commander was leaning rather heavily against the handrail that ran round most of the raised holotank platform. The effects of jump sickness hit him harder than most. The Precentor straightened up and nodded, "I think its time we introduced ourselves".

"As you wish, sir".

With the practised ease of a seasoned spacefarer, Captain Truscott kicked off from the deck and drifted across to the communications console. "Open a hailing frequency – I wish to speak with her captain", he ordered the ensign at the controls.

"Acolyte Quentin, what are we looking at?" Truscott barked at the sensor operator, glancing over his shoulder at the crewman behind him.

"Sir, it appears to be a modified Monsoon class battleship, displacement one point three million tons, main armament consisting of medium PPCs and Class 30 autocannon", the Acolyte reported, the surprise evident in his voice.

"Blake's blood!" exclaimed Truscott. "I had no idea there were any Monsoons left…that ship must be over 600 years old!"

"If you recall", said the hooded figure from near the holotank, "The _Tempest_ was formerly used by the Com Guards as a training vessel, prior to our liberation of Terra. Evidently they are still unable to dispense with her services".

Truscott gave a derisive snort. "If that is the best they can muster, we may as well send the _Swift Justice_ and the _Deliverance_ against her. Between them they carry almost the same firepower and armour".

The hooded figure nodded. "If the ship's commander does not comply, send them. I would imagine their crews are eager for action after this interminable journey".

"Blake's will be done, sir. For too long these heretic scum have cast a shadow on the light of Blessed Blake's Divine Will. It is time they were eradicated".

The hooded figure made a disapproving noise. "Eradicated?"

It shook its head. "We are not here to destroy them. Our mission is to make them see the error of their ways. The falsehoods they so blindly follow have caused them to stray from the True Path and our task is to guide them back to the light of Blake's divine wisdom".

The figure gave a soft, chilling laugh, "If our lost flock require some…encouragement…to return then we will indeed simply be doing His will".

The Precentor's words sent a shiver down Truscott's spine. He was left in no doubt that his commander would relish any "encouraging" that had to be done.

* * *

**BCS** Samuel Hood_,  
_**Patrol Orbit, Britannia,**  
**Britannic Coalition**

Adept Reid's console lit up with warning lights and discreet buzzers sounded as the inbound jump signatures, picked up earlier, transformed into solid sensor contacts. Her stomach lurched as she read the streams of data that rapidly scrolled down her main screen. "Sir, I…"

"I see it", Calderwood replied, still hovering over her shoulder and cutting her off mid-sentence. "I'll inform Precentor Harrington".

Ross straightened up and strode over to his bridge station. Punching a few buttons on the comms console put him through to the Precentor's cabin. The electronic buzzer rang several times before a groggy-sounding voice answered from the other end.

"Harrington – what is it?" Matthew Harrington had been having a rough deployment. The _Hood_ had been having computer and engine problems since they left the outer berth at the _Arcturus_ space dock two weeks ago. He'd been driving his crew hard to fix them, but had not spared himself either.

"Sir, your presence on the bridge is required immediately. Several warships have just arrived in system. Negative response to IFF but they're designs known to be used by both Comstar and Word of Blake…including a McKenna and a Potemkin. Given what's been going on in the Inner Sphere lately, I don't think Anastasius Focht or Precentor Martial Davion have decided to pay us a visit, sir".

Calderwood thought he heard a muttered curse before the Precentor replied, "On my way". The link was cut abruptly and Ross returned to his station, wondering what else could possibly go wrong.

He briefly recalled the pride he'd felt on being promoted to Demi-Precentor last year, which had only swelled on learning he had been appointed to serve as the _Hood's_ Executive Officer. He'd been brought down to Terra with a resounding thud on the shakedown cruise following the ship's refit. In their hurry to get the ship combat-ready, it seemed the techs at Cygnus had left a number of jobs unfinished or neglected entirely. As a result, the ship's engines and manoeuvring thrusters suffered from power fluctuations, sometimes cutting out entirely. The ship's computer systems – controlling everything from waste disposal to communications and fire control were also erratic to say the least. He crossed his fingers behind his back and offered up a silent prayer to any gods that might be listening.

Precentor Harrington stumbled from his bunk and hurriedly dragged on a pair of soft-soled flight boots that were designed to fit inside larger, heavyweight magnetic boots, when it was necessary for him to keep his feet firmly on the floor. He zipped up his rumpled pale blue jumpsuit, hit his cabin's door switch and drifted through. Matthew pulled himself along the corridor to the elevator, using the handrails that ran along the walls. Under normal circumstances, he'd have drifted all the way, but his cabin was six decks below the bridge and Calderwood's tone, along with his words, had clearly conveyed the urgency of the situation.

On reaching the elevator, he hit the button and waited impatiently for the car to arrive. What seemed like an age later, the door hissed quietly to one side and he drifted in, reaching over and jabbing the button for the bridge.

The lift began its ascent. It had travelled several decks when, suddenly, it lurched to a halt. Harrington swore and hit the button for the bridge again. When nothing happened, he slapped it repeatedly, before hitting the alarm button.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!" he swore as the mild electric shock travelled through his body. The control panel sparked and the smell of burnt circuitry filled the air.

The elevator lurched again and suddenly dropped like a stone. Harrington stumbled and fell to the floor, pinned there by the G forces exerted on his body.

Ten decks and a hundred feet later the lift car smashed into the bottom of the shaft, killing Precentor Matthew Harrington instantly.

Back on the bridge, it seemed their unexpected guests were ready to identify themselves.

"Demi-Precentor, incoming transmission from the McKenna!" called the comms officer.

Calderwood looked across at the Acolyte at the communications console and nodded. "Put it on the main display".

He waited expectantly as the junior officer of the bridge crew punched in the appropriate commands.

Calderwood's blood ran cold as the blank screen resolved into the decidedly undaunting shape of a stocky, silver-haired man clad in a white jumpsuit, whose epaulettes bore the familiar rank insignia of a Demi-Precentor. The sudden upwelling of fear and hatred within him was inspired by the device on the left breast of the man's jumpsuit…the sword-and-hyperpulse logo of the Word of Blake. Ever since they'd identified the vessels, he'd been expecting it, but seeing undeniable proof still shook him to the core.

A shocked silence fell over the rest of the bridge crew as they recognised the face of their sworn enemy.

The silver-haired man spoke. "I am Demi-Precentor Fabien Truscott, commander of the Blake Guard Ship Bismarck. Word of Blake is assuming control of the Britannia system and all others belonging to the Coalition. You are advised to stand down and prepare to be boarded".

At this point Truscott paused and smiled unpleasantly. "Failure to comply will be met with lethal force".

Ross Calderwood struggled to keep his face impassive. He glanced over his shoulder, desperately hoping to see Precentor Harrington appear through the bridge door, but it remained resolutely closed. He made a show of looking at the control console in front of him, while his mind raced as he thought of something to say. In the end he gave the only response he could.

"I am Demi-Precentor Ross Calderwood, Executive Officer of the Britannic Coalition Ship Samuel Hood. You have entered Coalition space without authorisation and have furthermore stated your hostile intent. As personnel of the Coalition Navy it is our duty to defend our territory with every means at our disposal. I intend to see we carry out our duty to the fullest extent". Although he stood in a relaxed "at ease" pose, he was anything but and it took every ounce of self-control to keep his voice level and unemotional.

Truscott gave a tolerant smile, as a parent dealing with a child's temper tantrum might. "Demi-Precentor Calderwood, perhaps it might be better if you summon your commanding officer. I think his assessment might be a little different".

Knowing he was showing weakness to an enemy, but not caring, Calderwood glanced across at the communications officer. "Jeffers, see if you can raise Precentor Harrington. Advise him his presence is required on the bridge immediately".

A few moments later, she glanced up at him. "Sorry, sir, I'm not getting anything".

"Sir…" It was Reid again. "Two of the smaller vessels have increased speed and are on bearings to intercept".

"Time is running out, Calderwood", said Truscott, whose visage still loomed over them on the main viewscreen. "You have two minutes to comply or we will open fire".

Glancing behind him, Calderwood saw Precentor Harrington still hadn't made it to the bridge. Hesitating only for a moment he punched a button on his console to kill the transmission, before hitting the one which sounded the General Quarters alarm. The lighting on the bridge and throughout the ship changed from the normal white to a muted red. An electronic two-tone klaxon began sounding. Activating his console mike, he made sure it was patched to the ship-wide comms system. "All hands to battle stations, all hands to battle stations. This is not a drill...repeat...this is not a drill".

He felt the deck tilt and the vibration through the hull increase, as the _Hood's_ helmsman tried to steer them out of the McKenna's broadside arc. He reached for a grab rail, braced his legs and turned his gaze once again to the viewscreen. It didn't help. The sight of the hostile fleet growing larger with every passing minute did nothing to calm his nerves.

He glanced over at the communications officer. "Relay this message to the HPG station and have them transmit immediately to headquarters".

He paused as the Acolyte readied herself to take the message.

"Three Word of Blake warships arrived in system at Oh Six Thirty BST. Flotilla comprises a McKenna, a Potemkin, a Lola III, a Vincent and an Essex. Commander of McKenna has stated hostile intentions and has ordered fighter craft launched against us. Both destroyers have also opened fire on us. We are preparing for a defensive action and request assistance from any available fleet units".

The ensign glanced up from her keyboard questioningly.

"That's it – send it now!"

"Aye, sir!" she responded, punching the requisite commands into her terminal. From there, the message would go to the ship's onboard HPG station, where it would be encrypted and compressed, before being beamed through space, to the HPG facility at the Coalition Naval headquarters on Britannia.

Ross returned his gaze to the main viewscreen, hoping against hope that his superiors would come up with a plan to extricate them from this nightmarish situation. Even as he fervently prayed, he knew he was being unrealistic. News had reached them of the _Athena's_ battle in the Wellington system…their closest friendly unit was currently disabled and in need of assistance herself. Any help, if any at all were coming, would have to come from Newcastle or Halifax. This battle could very well be over by then.

He spun round in annoyance as another thought came to him. "Where the hell is Precentor Harrington?" he asked the bridge in general. "He should have been here by now".

"Demi-Precentor!" called the comms officer, her voice tinged with panic. "They've found Precentor Harrington…there was a malfunction in Elevator Three…" her voice trailed off. "They…they're…he's…dead…"

For a moment there was complete silence on the bridge, except for the muted wailing of the battle stations siren.

Calderwood, like the rest of the crew, was stunned. He couldn't think of anything to say, much less decide what to do next. In the end, the decision was made for him.

Just then a new siren began sounding. "Sir, we have missiles inbound…the Lola III has opened fire on us!" shouted the sensor operator.

"What the hell…?" began Calderwood, looking in bewilderment at the main viewscreen. Though the unidentified fleet was clearly visible, the missiles were too far away to make out against the starry background.

"Another incoming transmission, sir!" called the comms officer.

"Put it up!"

The starscape was replaced with the Blakist commander's face once more.

"You're out of time, Calderwood", said Truscott, a slight maniacal edge to his voice. "Prepare to receive Blake's divine justice!"

Ross pulled himself together and began barking out commands. "Helm, begin evasive manoeuvres! Weapons, activate AMS, launch decoy screens and prepare forward batteries…and someone, get _that_ off my bridge", he snapped, pointing at the oversized face of the Demi-Precentor.

The comms officer punched a button and the Blakist's visage disappeared from the viewscreen, to be replaced by the external view of the enemy fleet.


	26. Opening Blows

**BCS **Samuel Hood,  
**Britannia System**

The impact of the pair of White Shark missiles, fired by the Lola III, barely registered as the _Hood's_ heavily armoured hull easily absorbed the damage. Its forward class 55 naval lasers carved deep scars in the bow plating, but had little effect. The Essex quickly joined in, as if eager not to be outdone by its companion. It began firing ranging shots with its Barracuda launchers and medium NPPCs, some finding their target, others not.

"Hardly seems sporting, two against one, does it, sir?" asked Adept Melanie Slade, standing at her post by the navigation console.

Calderwood stared at her for a moment as if she'd gone mad, before realising she was attempting a joke to try and lighten the mood on the bridge. "I couldn't agree more, Adept Slade. The pop-guns those destroyers carry will be a nuisance at best".

He raised his voice a little more to make sure it carried across the bridge. "They're obviously terrified of us if they're sending their escorts in to harass us first", he said, nodding at the on-screen image of the McKenna. "They're big, but apparently not very brave".

He turned round to get a quick glimpse of the holotank. The Lola III was closing in rapidly, ahead of the slower Essex. The former was swinging to port, while the latter kept to starboard. They were clearly hoping to catch the _Hood_ in a pincer attack. It didn't worry Calderwood unduly. Their relatively light weapons would have a hard time punching through the battleship's heavily armoured hide, while the _Hood's _broadside batteries would cripple them, if they got close enough.

'_Time to say hi to our guests'_, he decided.

"Weapons, target the Lola with our forward batteries….let them know we care".

"Aye, sir!" called the weapons officer, clearly relieved to finally be allowed to retaliate.

A volley of eight Killer Whale missiles streaked towards the enemy destroyer, slamming into her starboard bow, shattering armour plating, but not punching through.

Several minutes and four exchanges of missile volleys passed before his next call. "Sir, she's in range of our main batteries!"

"Fire as you bear".

A muted roar vibrated through the hull, like the sound of low-flying fighters, as the _Hood's_ forward pair of heavy naval gauss rifles fired. For good measure, the gunners manning batteries of medium naval PPCs and class 45 lasers added their weight to the barrage.

The sensor operator had brought up a zoomed image of the Lola on a secondary display, just in time for everyone on the bridge to witness the destroyer's starboard bow being torn open like a tin can. The pair of massive gauss projectiles obliterated the remaining armour, while the lasers ate into the ship's internal structure, visible only by the damage they inflicted. The flickering azure beams of the particle cannon, played over the bow, destroying weapon mounts and damaging the superstructure. Cheers erupted from everyone on the bridge, except Calderwood, who was still too intently focused on the battle. The celebrations became wilder as an explosion in the destroyer's bow tore open a huge hole in the top side. The huge vessel, which displaced nearly 700,000 tons, visibly staggered under the devastating blow and immediately began to turn away, keeping her damaged section away from the _Hood's_ guns.

* * *

**BGS** Bismarck,  
**Britannia System**

Demi Precentor Truscott watched the scene unfold on the _Bismarck's_ main viewscreen in disbelief. "Blake's blood! What in the name of the Sainted Jerome could cause that kind of damage?"

The robed figure glided silently over to stand beside Truscott, making him jump when it spoke. "It seems our heretic brethren invested a great deal of time and money in upgrading her armament. Those were heavy naval gauss rifles, if I'm not mistaken. Her missile and energy weapon complement appear to have been significantly upgraded too".

"It'll tear the Divine Justice and the Sword of Truth apart if we don't intervene!"

"Follow their lead", said the figure, nodding at the viewscreen as over a dozen smaller craft streaked from each destroyer, homing in on the leviathan that lay between them, "Launch the fighters and assault dropships".

"As you wish, sir".

* * *

**BCS** Samuel Hood,  
**Britannia System**

"Sir, I'm picking up multiple new contacts. Both destroyers launching fighters! Multiple contacts from the McKenna. It's launching…Jesus Christ, it's launching dozens of fighters. Two larger contacts - looks like they're sending dropships too!"

The cry from the sensor operator brought the jubilant mood on the bridge to an abrupt end.

Calderwood didn't hesitate for one second. "Notify Flight Ops – I want all fighters airborne immediately!"

The Executive Officer sat rigidly, gripping the arms of his seat with white-knuckled fingers. Of course, it would take several minutes for the _Hood's_ complement of aerospace fighters to clear their bays and engage the enemy. Until then, she was on her own. All over the battleship's hull, automated pulse laser turrets went into overdrive as they tracked and engaged the looping and diving Blakist fighters. Anti-missile systems were switched to full-auto mode, allowing them to track and destroy inbound enemy missiles.

The _Hood_ shuddered repeatedly as the damaged Lola covered her withdrawal with her batteries of large-calibre naval lasers and light autocannon. The faint thunder of explosions announced the detonation of several Barracuda missiles. Suddenly, a light-grey shadow streaked across the main viewscreen.

"Fighters!" yelled the sensor operator. "They're from the Lola! Transponder codes don't match anything in our databanks. Whatever they are - they must be pretty damn new!"

Calderwood suppressed the urge to snap at the Acolyte. "I'm sure the Blakists have been hard at work developing all sorts of new toys since we left. It doesn't really matter right now…all we've got to do is slow them down enough until our forces planetside are ready to give them a warm welcome".

"Uh, sir…" the sensor operator's voice was much more subdued this time. "I'm picking up over sixty…that's Six Zero fighters inbound from the McKenna".

There was a moment's silence on the bridge and Calderwood briefly weighed up the chances of the _Hood's_ twenty-four fighters against a combined force over four times as large.

"Order our fighters to engage the craft launched by the destroyers. If they can draw them away…that'll leave us free to take on the McKenna's fighters", he ordered.

"Uh, sir", said Slade quietly, "That leaves us facing around five fighter squadrons, with no air cover".

"Not to mention the pair of assault dropships headed our way", said Ross grimly. "Look at it this way…if I ordered our guys to engage the McKenna's fighters, they'd be outnumbered nearly three-to-one and the high risk of friendly fire would mean we couldn't help them. In any case, we'd still have the dropships and the fighters from the destroyers to worry about. At least, this way we can throw everything we've got at them without worrying about shooting our own people".

Adept Slade conceded the point with a nod and a resigned sigh.

"Hangars report all units airborne, sir!" called the Fighter Control Officer. "Alpha and Bravo are going after the Lola's fighters; Gamma and Delta are engaging those from the Essex".

"Very well". The fire directed at the _Hood_ slackened considerably, but Ross knew it was only a temporary reprieve.

The minutes ticked by and the sensor operator counted down the range as the large formation of enemy fighters, with the two assault dropships in their midst, closed the range from the McKenna to the _Hood_. By maintaining a few hundred metres' distance between each other and making continual, minor course changes, they made it almost impossible for the _Hood's_ gunners, manning her capital class weaponry, to get any clear shots at them.

A few of the laser gunners, manning the "55s" scored hits, that were part luck, part skill, but for the most part, the small, sleek grey craft advanced rapidly and ominously, like a swarm of angry hornets.

Closing to weapons range, which was also inside the minimum range of the _Hood's_ main guns, they began to open fire. The majority of them appeared to be armed with gauss rifles, extended range particle cannon and long-range missiles. A smaller group broke away and accelerated closer to the massive battleship.

"Blake's blood", muttered one of the crewmen as a swarm of over two hundred long range missiles leapt from the racks of the farthest group of fighters.

Calderwood saw the danger immediately. Knowing that individually, their weapons would have little effect against a heavily armoured leviathan like the _Hood_, the pilots were concentrating their fire on specific areas of the hull.

Unfortunately, there was little he could do about it. The ship was in the wrong position for her aft-mounted screen launcher to have any effect and the enemy craft were still outside the range of her automated defences.

The sensor operator turned in his seat, his face a mask of worry. "Sir, I have two hundred and forty missiles…that's Two Four Zero missiles inbound".

"Thank you, Acolyte", replied Calderwood, much more calmly than he felt. "Sound collision alarm and brace for impact!"

A barely audible, whining noise could be heard as half of the _Hood's_ sixteen AMS turrets began to track the inbound missiles. The whining was punctuated by short bursts of high-pitched buzzing as they spewed forth a torrent of high velocity slugs, designed to detonate missile warheads. As the bridge crew watched the main viewscreen and various secondary displays, they saw blooms of fire blossom and vanish as missiles detonated before finding their target. However, a mere eight AMS turrets were never going to be enough to stop them all and the better part of two hundred missiles impacted on the _Hood's_ port flank in a concentrated pattern, obliterating much of the armour protection from the bridge to the midsection.

The impact of the missile barrage made the battleship lurch visibly. Anyone and anything not securely strapped down was sent tumbling in slow-motion as she rolled several degrees to starboard.

The McKenna's fighters gave them little respite, following up the missiles with a salvo of particle cannon and gauss rifle fire. The charged particle beams ate away the remaining armour protection in dozens of locations, allowing the gauss slugs to tear into the ship's internal structure, destroying entire compartments. Klaxons sounded on the bridge and throughout the rest of the ship. In the damaged sections, automated airtight doors hissed shut to maintain the ship's hull integrity.

Calderwood felt his blood turn to ice water in his veins as he realised he'd completely underestimated the threat posed by the enemy warship's fighters.

"Damage report!" he barked, knowing it would be bad, but needing to know exactly how bad.

"Sir, we have hull breaches on decks seven through fifteen. Thirteen compartments are venting atmosphere but they're being evacuated and sealed off. Two anti-missile systems are off line and four pulse laser batteries. Sir, another hit like that to our port side could finish us".

* * *

**Stingray F-92,**  
**2km off Swift Justice's Port Bow**

Adept Orwell Croft gave a whoop of elation as the last of the enemy fighters vanished in a ball of flame. "Nice shooting, Sam", he called to Adept Samara Miles, flight leader of II-Bravo.

Miles pulled off a snappy victory roll by way of acknowledgement before levelling out and allowing the rest of her unit to form up on her.

The enemy fighters from the Lola had been intent on harassing the _Hood_ and had completely failed to notice the twelve Stingrays of II-Alpha and II-Bravo, respectively known as the Red Kites and Ospreys, arcing up at them from underneath the battleship. With the twin advantages of surprise and superior numbers, two enemy fighters had died before they knew what hit them, a third falling to the _Hood's_ pulse laser batteries. The remaining three fled towards the cover of the destroyer's guns, but never made it, as the Coalition fighters were every bit their equal in speed and manoeuvrability.

It was time to bring his own unit to heel, "Red Lead to all units, reform into elements and follow my lead. That destroyer is hurt pretty bad. With a few concentrated volleys I think we can finish her off. Approach from the bow and she won't be able to bring much weaponry to bear against us".

As he listened to the acknowledgements over the radio, he brought up a magnified view of the crippled Lola. He let out a low whistle as he surveyed the gaping holes in her hull and forward superstructure. Whatever compartments had been opened up had long since lost their oxygen and the fire resulting from the forward magazine explosion had been extinguished. The massive warship was leaving a trail of debris behind her as she limped away from the scene of the battle and Croft guessed her crew's main priority would be damage control. He was also counting on the majority of her weapon stations being unmanned or out of action.

"Alright Kites, time to finish the kill!" he called over the radio.

He allowed himself a grim smile as one joker in the unit responded with a raptor screech.

"Follow my lead. We'll make our attack run from bow to stern. Priority targets are the bow, bridge and engines".

After getting acknowledgements, he followed up with a word of warning. "Remember people – watch your threat indicators. Just because she's damaged, doesn't mean she's not dangerous".

The twelve _Stingrays_ formed up, the two flights making a double arrowhead formation, with Croft and Miles at the tip of each. As the range closed to under a kilometre, one of the _Lola's_ starboard capital class lasers discharged. Nearly invisible in the vacuum of space, its faint ruby glow lanced into the formation, but failed to find a target. It was followed moments later by the brilliant azure beam of a particle cannon, which reached out with its lethal, flickering caress.

Orwell cringed inwardly as he heard a cry over the radio cut short and suddenly dissolve into static.

"Keller got hit! That PPC just…vapourised him!" called one of the pilots from the rear of the formation. She sounded slightly panicky and Orwell couldn't blame her.

They were in optimum range for their weapons now…unfortunately they were also now in range of the destroyer's remaining anti-fighter defences. A flurry of faint ruby darts began peppering the fighters as the Lola's pulse laser batteries opened fire, prompting cries of alarm over the radio.

He selected a private channel and called his counterpart. "Ready Sam?" he asked.

"You know me, Oz", she replied. He could hear the steely resolve in her voice.

Switching back to the Level II frequency he gave the order to attack, "Red Lead to all units, commence attack runs. Tally ho!"

Croft pushed his stick forward, sending the _Stingray_ into a fast dive. His fighter was taking fire, but not enough to be a worry. Lining up on the ragged fifty-metre hole in the destroyer's bow, he tied his extended range particle cannon and large lasers to the primary trigger. His aim was true and he saw the energy beams penetrate deep into the ship's unprotected interior. With little visible indication of damage, he could only hope his shots were wreaking havoc deep within the ship.

Seconds later the bridge was rapidly rushing to meet him. He hit the forward thrusters, decelerating hard, but he'd left it too late and all he could manage was a hasty snapshot that scarred the superstructure, before executing a hard roll to the right to avoid slamming his craft into the ship.

Miles, following close behind, had the benefit of observing her colleague's run and the fact his unit was attracting most of the enemy's fire. Slowing her fighter, she executed a more graceful dive, unleashing a full alpha strike on the destroyer's bow. Slowing her _Stingray_ still further, she caught the dull glow of internal fires, deep within the ship's interior and saw more debris begin to drift from inside the hull. Focusing her crosshairs on the wide, low bridge, she impatiently counted off the seconds as her weapons recycled. Firing just her main weapons this time, she gave a snort of frustration as her particle cannon and large lasers only managed to scar and blacken the bridge structure.

"Okay, we've marked the target for you – now let 'em have it!" she called to the rest of her unit.

Making their runs, singly or in pairs, the other nine fighters strafed the crippled warship. More explosions from inside the hull and gouts of flame provided visual proof of the success of their attacks. As the last pair made their run, the starboard side of the bridge imploded, before ejecting a fountain of debris and more than one unfortunate sailor.

The radio net was cluttered with cheers as the pilots celebrated.

"Alright people, well done, but stay focused. Now we go for the engines. Form up on me and remember to stay clear of the ion streams, unless you're looking to develop a very unhealthy suntan", Croft ordered as he banked his fighter sharply to starboard, executing a hundred and eighty degree turn. Glancing briefly to his right, he saw the rest of the squadron sweeping past to form up behind him. The complete absence of harassing fire from the destroyer told him the crew were too busy trying to save their ship.

'_Too bad your efforts will be in vain'_, he thought grimly as he climbed high over the destroyer's stern, cutting his speed sharply and pushing his stick forward, standing the fighter on its nose. As his crosshairs centred on the armoured cowls protecting the Lola's main drive, Croft tied his main weapons to the primary trigger and fired.

He wasn't surprised to find his salvo had little, if any, effect on the destroyer's heavily armoured hide. The only truly vulnerable points were the drives' exhaust ports, but targeting them would mean riding in the dangerous, high-energy plasma trail vented by the ship's engines…not something any sane person would wish to contemplate.

Croft cut his forward thrusters, engaged his fighter's main engine and darted away, allowing the rest of the squadron to begin their attack runs. Slowly but surely, successive volleys of fire ate away the _Divine Justice's_ weaker aft armour. As the last _Stingray_ made its run, Orwell swept his fighter round in a tight turn to begin another run. As before, he cut his engines and engaged the forward thrusters, once over the warship's stern. This time, the near-invisible lances of his lasers and the azure whiplash of his particle cannon disintegrated the remnants of the cowling and ate into the engines themselves. With the drives' protective thermal casing damaged, the superheated plasma vented in uncontrolled bursts from the ruptured exhaust ports. As the engines began to disintegrate, the plasma began to eat away the ship's internal structure. A chain reaction of explosions tore the stern apart, as though it had been rigged with demolition charges.

The air aboard the ship was quickly consumed by the fires and replaced by the vacuum of space. The lifeless hulk drifted out of control, trailing debris and dead bodies in its wake.

As Adept Croft looked on from his circling fighter, he saw a number of lifeboats and escape pods burst from within previously unseen recesses in the ship's hull.

"Some of the bastards are getting away…lets go after them!"

The unknown pilot's cry brought a chorus of agreement over the radio net.

"Red Lead to all units, that's a negative. They no longer pose a threat so we will let them go. In any case…"

His response was interrupted by a transmission over the command frequency. _"This is the Hood to all aerospace units, we are engaging a large number of enemy fighters and require immediate assistance"._

The speaker paused and in the background, the sound of distant explosions could be heard.

"_I say again, we are under attack from massed enemy aerospace units and are taking heavy damage. Assault group includes two dropships. Request immediate…"_

The rest of the message was drowned out by another explosion and dissolved into static. Orwell's heart leapt into his throat and his stomach lurched. Suddenly feeling nauseous, he issued a curt order to the rest of his squadron. "You heard that, ladies and gentlemen. The Hood needs our help…lets go".

Without waiting for a response, he brought his Stingray's nose around and pushed his throttle to the stops.


	27. Closing for the Kill

**Stingray F-92,**  
**Engaging Essex Class Destroyer Sword of Truth**

Adept Antonia Laziridis went cold, on hearing the _Hood's_ distress call, despite the heat build-up in her fighter's cockpit. Her _Stingray_ had taken some damage during the short-lived duel with the Essex destroyer's aerospace contingent and it was no longer dissipating the heat generated by it's weapons as well as it should.

A naturally gifted pilot, but with no combat experience until now, she was experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions. First, had been nervous tension, as she'd headed towards her first engagement, followed by euphoria as her Fire Falcons, with their numerical superiority, had quickly overwhelmed the enemy ship's fighters. Now, for the first time in her short career as a combat pilot, she felt fear at the thought her squadron's mothership might be in danger.

"Falcon Lead to all units!" she called, issuing her rallying cry over the squadron's general frequency. "Immediate RTB, max throttle. Looks like the Hood has some bugs that need swatting!"

A chorus of angry yells answered her call and she hoped her pilots wouldn't lose their heads in what had become a desperate struggle for survival. While anger was good in combat, as it got the adrenaline pumping, a clear head was also essential for survival.

With the destruction of her aerospace unit and with few weapons which could be used effectively against fighters, the Essex had been forced to withdraw under continual harassment from the Coalition squadron. Now, as they peeled away, heading back to their own ship, the Blakist commander ordered his ship to close the range on the besieged _Monsoon_ class battleship, where the destroyer's lighter weapons would be more effective.

* * *

**BCS** Samuel Hood_,  
_**Britannia System,**  
**Britannic Coalition**

Demi-Precentor Ross Calderwood stared numbly at the main viewscreen, unseeing as the enemy fighters looped and dived around the massive warship, oblivious to the steady succession of explosions that reverberated through the hull. He barely even noticed the vibrations that ran through the deck plates, as each salvo from the fighters stripped the _Hood_ of a little more protection. The battleship was like a locust being swarmed by soldier ants, her anti-fighter defences hopelessly overwhelmed by the sheer number of enemy aerospace craft. Worse, their concentrated fire was beginning to knock out her capital weapons.

While around him, the ship and her crew fought for their lives, his mind whirled with thoughts. He knew the smart thing to do would be to withdraw. Jump to Halifax or St Helens and regroup. Every time he was on the verge of giving the order to jump though, his gaze would be drawn to the _McKenna_ and the half dozen dropships arrayed round its hull. Those Overlords could carry up to a full Division of mechs. From the news that had filtered through to the Periphery about this so-called Jihad, initiated by the Word of Blake, he knew the two newly-formed BCAF Divisions remaining on Britannia would struggle against veteran Blakist forces. Then there were the horror stories they'd all heard about the orbital bombardments of Tharkad, New Avalon and Sian. That _McKenna_ carried enough firepower to devastate a continent in a matter of hours. He couldn't abandon Britannia to a similar fate…he just couldn't…

"Sir – we have to withdraw…now!"

The sudden shout in his ear jerked him out of his internal conflict. Adept Slade was gazing up at him with an intensity that could melt steel plate, her eyes wide, her expression a mixture of anger and fear.

Calderwood stared around the bridge. The rest of the crew were totally absorbed with their tasks. Although activity had reached fever pitch and the constant barrage from the enemy fighters meant they were having to shout to make themselves heard, no-one seemed to be panicking yet.

"Damage report!" He barked over at the engineering officer.

"Sir, we have significant hull damage in all sections, although the only breaches are in the forward port section. Repairs are holding so far, but we cannot take any more hits in that area. Point defences are at fifty percent, main weapons still eighty percent functional. Sickbay reports thirty-one casualties, mostly from the gun crews and six fatalities".

Calderwood shook his head. "We have to hold on a little longer".

"Sir! If we remain here…" hissed Slade.

"I'm aware of our situation Adept", said Ross, cutting her off. "We have to get one more message planet-side to let them know exactly what they're going to be up against".

He spun round to face the console behind him, forcing himself to ignore the large glowing holotank that depicted the _Hood_ being swarmed by more aerospace fighters than he cared to count. "Acolyte, take this message!

"Sir!" The comms officer's face was bathed in an eerie green glow from the instruments on her console.

"Destroyer fighter units eliminated and Lola crippled. Essex is still pursuing and we are under heavy aerospace attack from the McKenna. Have sustained heavy damage and preparing to jump to Halifax system unless otherwise instructed. McKenna is carrying a full dropship complement and estimate a full Blakist Division is travelling with the fleet…"

"We don't know that for sure, sir", interrupted Slade.

"We have to assume the worst Adept Slade", snapped Calderwood. "I think you'd agree that things are looking pretty bad right now".

He turned his gaze back to the ensign, "Advise you prepare for invasion and possible orbital bombardment". He paused for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts. "We will be making a run for the nearest pirate point in the next ten minutes, unless we receive orders to the contrary. We will resume contact as soon as we reach our destination…Hood out".

The communications officer hit the transmit key as soon as she'd finished typing the message. In a matter of seconds it was processed through the battleship's hyperpulse generator, before being beamed to naval headquarters on Britannia.

"Lets hope we haven't left it too late", said Slade quietly, her words barely carrying over the sounds of combat.

Calderwood pulled a small silver crucifix from inside his uniform shirt, where it hung round his neck on a thin silver chain. "In times like these, it helps to have faith".

Slade gazed at him in surprise. "You're a Christian?"

"Aye, have been for the best part of ten years".

"But…I mean…when you joined Comstar…"

"Oh, I believe in the power of technology and I believe Jerome is a saint, of sorts…but it takes somethin' else tae bring something like that into being", he said, nodding at the main viewscreen, indicating the vastness of space outside.

"After the fall of Terra, I realised that Comstar doesnae have all the answers and it wasnae prayin' to Blake that saved my arse when the toaster worshippers and their ROM agents was huntin' me down".

Ross shrugged at her bemused expression, "Ah cannae explain it, but…"

Just then, there was a thunderous explosion. The entire bridge shook as though the _Hood_ had collided at speed with another vessel. Several crewmembers staggered or fell at their posts. All lighting died and there were several shouts of alarm from the crew as their console displays flickered and disappeared. Just a few seconds later emergency lighting kicked in and restored a dull red glow to the bridge. One by one the officers at each station reported in.

"Sensors back on-line!"

"Weapons back!"

"Engineering, diagnostics and life support back!"

"Sir we have shipboard comms but our HPG and external comlinks are offline…we've lost contact with headquarters!"

"So, you believe things happen for a reason, right?" Slade asked sardonically.

"Tha's nuthin' tae do wi' God", snarled Calderwood, his Edinburgh accent becoming more pronounced as his anger surged. "Tha's just goddamn, son of a bitch, bloody Blakists!"

* * *

**Stingray F-92,**  
**Inbound on the Samuel Hood**

Adept Croft's blood ran cold as he saw the literal cloud of enemy fighters enveloping the _Hood_. "Blake's blood!" he breathed, wondering where and how to begin his attack.

"Aye, sir – it looks one bloody big awful mess", replied Adept Miles, sounding as shocked as he felt.

With the fighters fully engaged against the _Hood_, his squadron would have the element of surprise for a few minutes at least, but once the enemy realised there were hostiles among them, his pilots would find themselves in the middle of a furball, outnumbered nearly five to one. Just then he noticed a cluster of friendly contacts on his long-range sensors and his radio beeped to alert him to an incoming transmission on a command frequency.

"Oz! We're inbound on the Hood – ETA Three Zero seconds".

"Toni! Girl, are you a sight for sore eyes!" Croft couldn't hide his relief as he realised Antonia and II-Gamma were also on their way.

"Aren't I always?" came the slightly coy reply.

Orwell shook his head, amazed at her ability to inject some levity into the direst of situations. "We'll come in from the bow, you work up from the stern and I'll meet you somewhere over the bridge", she suggested.

"Sounds like a plan to me", Croft replied.

Attacking from two opposite directions would not only force the enemy fighters to split up, but would divert most of their attention from the _Hood_ and hopefully throw them into more than a little confusion.

"Red Lead to all units, target the fighters over the stern. Once we're through with them, we'll work our way forward. II-Gamma are inbound and will start their attack runs over the bow. Wingmen, stay with your flight leaders. If you find yourselves overwhelmed, break contact and find some clear space before you re-engage. Remember people, we're fighting for the Hood here. If we don't win this one…we may have no ship to go back to".

With a chorus of their favoured battle cries, II-Alpha and Bravo fell on the unsuspecting Blakist fighters, the element of surprise allowing them to dispatch four _Defiance_ omnifighters before the Blakists realised what was happening. After that it became a desperate struggle of attrition, although it seemed that for every _Stingray_ destroyed or crippled, three or four enemy craft fell. The Coalition pilots' anger and desire to save the _Hood_ seemed to be giving them an edge…not to mention their willingness to push their craft to the very limit of their performance.

A cluster of unengaged enemy craft suddenly vectored away from the fight and headed towards the _Hood's_ bow and Croft guessed that Laziridis and II-Gamma had come to the party. His peripheral vision caught a number of flashes and explosions, signifying the destruction of more fighters, though he had no time to check whether they were friendlies or enemies. Time seemed to compress and the battle became a montage of lights, vague shapes and half-heard radio chatter. He was too focused on simply staying alive to be more than dimly aware of the strains the dogfight was placing on his body and the impact of enemy weapons on his craft.

Some time later – it seemed like just a few minutes - a number of enemy fighters that had been lurking on the fringes of the fight, turned tail, maxing their engines and heading back to the McKenna. Another small, ragged formation darted into view as it cleared the far side of the _Hood's_ superstructure. Those currently engaged with the Coalition fighters tried to break off, but most were destroyed before they could escape.

A quick scan of his readouts showed somewhere between twenty and thirty enemy craft retreating…far fewer than had left the McKenna at the start of the attack. _What now?_ He wondered. He was under no illusions that the Blakists would give up just like that, despite their heavy losses. Well, whatever they were up to, he wasn't about to let them off the hook so easily after the mauling they'd handed the _Hood_.

"Red Lead to all units, form up on me…we're going WOB hunting", Croft called over the general frequency.

His eight remaining pilots formed up in a loose V formation on either side of him. As they rocketed after the retreating Blakists, his radio beeped to inform him of an incoming call on a private channel.

"I hope you weren't planning on continuing this party without me". Antonia sounded slightly indignant.

"Don't think I could keep you away if I tried", replied Orwell, grinning behind his flight helmet's blacked-out visor.

"Damn right!" retorted Laziridis, "So, what are we doing?"

"I'm not sure, but the Blakists haven't turned tail and run once during this bloody Jihad of theirs…even when they've been on a hiding to nothing. They've got us on the ropes, so why let up now? They're up to something and I intend to make sure they don't spring any more surprises on us".

"Roger that", Antonia responded in heartfelt agreement.


	28. Death of a Legend

**BCS** Samuel Hood  
**Britannia System,**  
**Britannic Coalition**

"Commander, the McKenna's making a hard burn and altering course…she's coming about to One Nine Seven and closing the range!"

"Thank you Ensign", replied Calderwood, though he could see perfectly well the lengthening profile of the massive Blakist warship as it presented its port broadside. "Looks like they're finally going to say hello…"

He spun round. "Helm, bring us about to Two Seven Seven. Weapons, I want the forward batteries ready to fire on my mark!"

"Missile launch!" came the warning cry from the sensor operator. "It looks like she's emptying her forward launchers…got a double spread of Killer Whales, White Sharks and Barracudas!"

"Bloody marvellous", observed Calderwood sourly. His course change had just rendered all but the forward anti-missile turrets useless. "Forward batteries, fire as you bear!"

Seconds later a pair of faint, dull booms echoed through the hull and a faint vibration ran through the decking as the _Hood's_ forward heavy gauss rifles fired for only the second time in the entire action. The massive projectiles smashed into the Blakist warship's bow, obliterating large areas of armour plating, but did nothing to slow her relentless pursuit of the smaller Coalition battleship.

Eight barely visible ruby lances reached out, the Class 45 lasers finding targets on the McKenna's forward sections, followed by a quartet of man-made lightning bolts from the _Hood's_ forward medium particle cannon.

The barrage would have wrought terrible damage to a smaller vessel, but the McKenna's advanced ferro-carbide armour absorbed the punishment, keeping the damage to her hull, weapons and other systems to a minimum.

An odd keening whistle was both heard and felt through the hull as her octet of forward Killer Whale missile launchers discharged their second volley. The missiles left their launch tubes just as the McKenna's volley struck home.

Once again, crew and equipment were shaken or sent flying in almost-comical zero-gee slow motion. The _Hood's_ AMS turrets only succeeded in taking out half a dozen of the missiles and a mix of 18 Killer Whales, White Sharks and Barracudas impacted on her bow, forward of the area that had been ravaged in the aerospace attack.

"Damage report!" barked Calderwood, as soon as everyone had picked themselves up.

"Engineering reports heavy armour loss to the bow sections but no further hull breaches, sir".

Ross glanced up at the main viewscreen in time to see the Hood's missiles impact on the McKenna and felt his heart sink. The 1.9 million ton behemoth contemptuously rode out the wave of explosions that broke over its bow. If their opening volley at the Blakist flagship had done any significant damage, there was little evidence of it. Worse, she was continuing her turn, presenting her port broadside battery to them.

"Helm, new course Three Five Zero, all ahead full, attitude minus ten, pitch fifteen to starboard!" yelled Calderwood.

This would put the _Hood_ in a steep diving turn, a manoeuvre that was the warship equivalent of dog-fighting. It would create all manner of havoc throughout the ship, but Ross knew he had to protect her ravaged starboard flank from the McKenna's broadside weapons.

In the end, it didn't matter.

A dozen flickering azure beams reached out from the McKenna's broadside heavy particle cannon. As if guided by the Devil himself, each one found a weakened area of the hull and tore new breaches into her scarred flank that the overstretched damage control crews simply couldn't begin to deal with.

On the bridge there was little in the way of physical effects, except for a noticeable shuddering and rolling, induced by the sudden loss of a large amount of mass from one side of the hull.

"Damage report!" shouted Calderwood hoarsely, for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

When there was no reply, he whirled round. "I asked for a damage report, Ensign!" he yelled angrily.

The officer at the engineering console shook his head. "I'm not getting any response from the forward or starboard crews, sir".

"Commander, the McKenna is following us…she's rolling over to present her port batteries!"

"Helm, bring us around to Zero Four Five, attitude plus ten degrees!" Ross snapped. This would bring the _Hood_ under and behind the McKenna, allowing her undamaged port batteries to open fire.

"Sir, helm is not responding!" said the panicked-looking helmsman, "And we've lost the starboard main engine".

Just then, the ship was rocked by a series of thunderous explosions as the McKenna opened up with its port side weapons, raking the _Hood_ from stem to stern with another barrage of heavy particle cannon fire. Exploiting the damage done by the first broadside, the beams of man-made lightning seared deep into her hull, vapourising everything they touched, destroying equipment, venting compartments and starting fires. Some were quickly extinguished by the lack of oxygen but others spread rapidly to other parts of the ship that were still pressurised.

On the bridge, consoles exploded as the Blakist ship's particle cannon caused brief, violent power surges before the power lines were ruptured and a number of small fires sparked into life as circuits were shorted. The holotank display vanished, as did the main viewscreen and the bridge began to fill with a choking acrid smoke.

"Life support systems are failing, sir!" called the ensign seated at the operations console, coughing and struggling to breathe. "Sensors are detecting major fires in the forward and starboard sections. Majority of starboard weapons either destroyed or disabled".

"Sir, I've lost contact with engineering, gunnery, the medical centre…everywhere!" cried the comms officer, looking wide-eyed and fearful.

Calderwood angrily slammed a palm onto the command console in front of him and almost immediately suffered a coughing fit of his own. It was no good. The environmental and fire-fighting systems had evidently been destroyed or disabled in the last attack. Ordinarily they would still have a breathable atmosphere on board for a few more hours, but the fires would shorten that dramatically.

"Evacuate the bridge!" Comms, give the order to abandon ship…you never know, someone may hear it".

"Aye sir!"

A harsh electronic klaxon began to sound throughout the ship, audible even over the din created by a multitude of other alarms, exploding ordinance and general organised chaos as the crew tried to keep their ship and themselves alive.

"Sir the door's jammed…it won't open!" shouted the helmsman, frantically tapping the keypad. The light above the doorway remained resolutely in the red "locked" mode.

"Probably a hull breach or fire on the other side", said Calderwood tersely. "They're programmed to seal shut if they detect loss of hull pressure, radiation or extreme heat".

"How about the EC ducts?" said the sensor operator, pointing to the narrow, rectangular stainless steel ducting that ran along the top of the bridge and nearly every other compartment on the ship. They were just about large enough for a person to crawl in and had access hatches at regular intervals, to enable the maintenance crews to get at the fans, filters, heaters and cooling units inside.

"If the environmental controls are out, it'll be very hot in there and not much air", warned the comms officer.

"Would you rather just wait here to die?" asked the helmsman acerbically, his words muffled slightly by the handkerchief tied over his nose and mouth.

"If it's our only way out of here, we've got to try", said Calderwood hoarsely.

With no tools to hand, Ross drew the laser pistol he wore as his sidearm and simply burned out the bolts holding the hatch cover in place. It slowly drifted out of position as the ship moved relative to it. He gestured to the others to begin their ascent into the ducting. One by one, they kicked off from the deck, drifting up towards the opening and pulling themselves into the duct.

As the senior officers present, Calderwood and Slade were the last to leave. Ross clapped her on the shoulder. "Time to go", he said, coughing heavily. The smoke was getting too thick to see through.

She patted him on the back. "See you up there", she replied, dabbing her streaming eyes.

As Ross watched, Melanie kicked off and glided gracefully upward. Despite the lousy visibility, she found the hatch and disappeared inside. Moments later, her cute, impish face stared out of the opening at him. "Hurry up!" she called, waving frantically at him.

"I'm on my way. Go on – get moving!" he shouted back, making shooing gestures with his arms.

He waited until she had disappeared from view. As he kicked off, the ship lurched and more explosions sounded in the distance. Ross couldn't tell whether it was more fire from the McKenna or the ship continuing to tear herself apart. Whatever, the _Hood's_ sudden change in motion almost caused him to collide headfirst with the duct. He caught the edge of the hatch with his fingertips and swung himself into its dark mouth. As the comms officer had pointed out, it was very hot and he found his lungs struggling to draw enough air, which had an odd metallic taste.

Peering into the dimly lit interior of the duct, he could just make out Slade's shapely posterior as she crawled away from him. Under any other circumstances it would have been quite an amusing, not to mention pleasing sight. He sighed, got down on his hands and knees and followed her.

"Anybody know where we're going?" he called, his voice hoarse from inhaling smoke. Fortunately it was relatively quiet inside the duct, although faint noises from the rest of the ship were carried to them, distorted and tinny sounding. His voice sounded odd and echoed faintly as it bounced around the duct's interior.

"There's an elevator bank just aft of the bridge", called the helmsman, who was leading the way, "if we can get to it, we should be able to get a ride straight to the forward hangar".

"And if the lifts aren't working?" Calderwood asked, feeling pessimism pressing down on him like a physical force.

"Then we've a long walk ahead of us, sir", replied the helmsman somewhat tersely.

Ross put his head down and concentrated on maintaining the rhythmic movement of his arms and legs, crawling as quickly as his tiring limbs would allow. He had his head down, eyes closed and was concentrating on remembering the major incidents of their battle against the Blakist fleet, when his head butted against something soft and yielding. There was a surprised and faintly outraged squeal.

"Mel?"

"Don't bother trying to act surprised Ross…if you wanted to feel me up, you should have done it before the Blakists attacked us".

Calderwood suddenly realised he'd head-butted her backside. "Sorry – I wasn't looking where I was going".

Melanie snorted, clearly indicating what she thought of his excuse.

Ross decided to change the subject quickly, "What's the hold-up?"

"Lewis has found the elevators…he's just opening the…"

"Done it!" came the triumphant call from up ahead.

"…hatch", finished Slade.

A bright orange glow suddenly lit up the gloomy interior of the duct.

"Uh oh…this isn't good", said Lewis.

"What's wrong?" called Calderwood.

"Well, nothing, as such…it might get a little warm though".

The queue began moving again as the crewmen exited the duct. Ross felt himself enveloped in a blanket of uncomfortably hot air and the world suddenly exploded in a cacophony of noise as he drifted downward. A raging wall of fire burned fiercely at the near end of the long, wide corridor. His ears popped and he felt suddenly breathless. A shrieking wind made him look up, to see a gaping, ragged tear in the hull through which the ship's atmosphere was escaping. While it drew the smoke upward and out of the ship, it was also encouraging the fire to creep ever closer, drawn by the rushing air. The corridor was littered with floating debris and more distressingly, a number of corpses.

"Bingo! Come on people, this lift isn't going to wait!" called Lewis, standing by the open car of the middle elevator and seemingly oblivious to the devastation.

As they piled in, the comms officer crossed himself and muttered a quick prayer.

"You're only just deciding to pray now?" asked Ross, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"Its these bloody lifts…in case you've forgotten, the skipper died in one of these".

Calderwood rolled his eyes. "Have I told you, you have a lousy sense of timing?"

In the event, the lift descended without incident, save for an occasional shuddering and screeching as further explosions jolted it inside the shaft. It ground to a halt and the door jerkily slid open to reveal a scene of carnage. Blasts of air, by turns icy and furnace hot, washed over them, as they emerged from the lift car.

Faces took on expressions of shock as they surveyed the carnage. The forward hangar had been devastated by the McKenna's attack. Structural debris and pieces of shuttlecraft drifted slowly in the zero-gee environment. The interior was blasted and scorched by the Blakist ship's weapons. Fires raged unchecked from ruptured fuel tanks, prevented from spreading further only by the massive holes in the starboard hull, which rapidly drained the oxygen they needed. The ship's environmental control system was still working in this section. It was apparently dumping air into the hanger in a futile effort to restore hull pressure, making it possible to breathe…just.

"Jesus! This is how I felt after reaching the summit of Mount Merrivale on Torpoint", said the sensor operator, gasping heavily and leaning against an intact section of bulkhead.

"You can tell us about your holidays later", said Calderwood. "Right now, we have a shuttle to undock and an escape to complete", he said, pointing to the farthest berth, where a solitary shuttlecraft sat, seemingly unscathed.

The sight of the shuttle injected them all with new energy and a sense of purpose. Without needing any further orders, they headed for the shuttle, as fast as the lack of air and structural damage would allow. The sensor operator and helmsman split off and headed for the control station.

Ross unlocked the access panel on the shuttle's nose and hit the door control. It slid open smoothly. He let Slade board first as she was the better pilot. As she jumped into the commander's seat, she began hitting switches to bring the small vessel to life. As the various control consoles and displays lit up, her face creased into a puzzled frown. "I'm getting nothing from the engines…its like they're completely dead".

"Or more likely missing a few pieces", said Ross in exasperated annoyance as he read the data from one of the secondary monitors. "According to the maintenance log, this one was due to have a number of major components replaced".

"Shit!"

"Come on – looks like we're gonna have to find some escape pods", said Ross, putting an arm round her shoulder as she thumped the console in frustration. He jumped up from the co-pilot's seat, making his way to the door in two long, bouncing strides before catching the top of the door frame with both hands and swinging out into the disintegrating aircraft hangar.

He shook his head at the others who had been waiting to board. "No dice", he said shaking his head, now starting to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen, "We've got to get to the escape pods".

Melanie caught him up a moment later and together the group drifted and scrambled their way over to the control station.

"Shuttle won't start…engines offline", Slade said, panting heavily, "Got to…get to…escape pods".

"Wouldn't have mattered anyway", said the helmsman, "Docking controls are buggered…clamps, bay doors, comms…everything".

The nearest escape pods were on the other side of the bay, on the upper deck. Avoiding drifting debris, fire and dead bodies, the group made their way up and over ruined ladders and walkways, preferring to stay on their feet, rather than fling themselves into space and drift. They reached the row of escape pods, each one nestled in its own bay, built into the side of the hull. One by one, they hit the activation buttons and the round access doors hissed open. Wasting no time, they all clambered in. From there on, it was a simple matter of strapping in, checking the life support systems were functioning and hitting the eject button, launching the small capsules into space.

Slade braced herself a split second before being pushed back in her seat as her pod blasted clear of the _Hood_. In the far distance she could make out a small flotilla of other pods, indicating that at least some of the rest of the crew had got clear. Switching on the pod's basic but functional sensor suite she detected over forty lifeboats and escape pods ahead of her and another six behind her. She had no way of knowing right now which of the others had made it. Activating the pod's rescue beacon and com system she set about trying to find out.

As she worked the controls, she wondered absently whether the Blakists would hunt down and destroy the survivors, before deciding she didn't much care any more. If the Coalition was coming under WOB control, she would rather be dead. Despite her emotions, her training instinctively took over. The pods were designed to withstand atmospheric re-entry and carried enough manoeuvring fuel for a moderate in-system journey. Life support was good for a week or so. With a little luck, it looked as though she would make it back to Britannia…whether she wanted to or not.

Ross Calderwood braced himself and hit his pod's eject button. Nothing happened. His stomach lurched unpleasantly and he felt his heart rate accelerate. He hit it again…nothing. He began slapping it repeatedly cursing and shouting until a roaring noise that sounded like a planet exploding filled his ears. He was suddenly aware of a blinding orange-white light, filling his vision until he could see nothing else…then oblivion.

Mere seconds after the last of the escape pods launched, the fire that had been burning in the _Hood's_ forward missile magazine, finally heated the chemical explosives used in the warheads to combustion point. Given that over two hundred missiles were left in the magazine, the resulting explosion was nothing short of cataclysmic. The force of the blast tore the 1.3 million ton battleship almost in half, sending searing fireballs the length of the hull, obliterating everything in their path and gutting the aged warship, before eventually being extinguished by the vacuum of space.


	29. Rearguard Action

**Stingray F92,**  
**Britannia System,**  
**Britannic Coalition,**  
**The Periphery **

He was still pursuit of the fleeing Blakist fighters when he felt the strange, uncomfortable sensation working its way up his back. Following his instincts more than anything else, Adept Orson Croft jerked his stick back hard and to the left, gritting his teeth and holding his breath as blood tried to flow away from various important parts of his anatomy, as his fighter reversed direction sharply and rolled over to an upright position.

As he opened his eyes, he gasped and would have doubled over, had he not been tightly strapped into his seat. He swallowed hard, fighting the wave of nausea that swept over him. He blinked rapidly, trying to stem the tears welling up in his eyes, blurring his vision. Just over a hundred kilometres away, the _Hood_ burned, her bow just forward of the bridge, bent and buckled at a downward angle by what had obviously been a catastrophic explosion. Through his HUD magnifier, the large sections of missing hull plating were painfully evident, as were the fire and blast-ravaged compartments. Croft knew at once that they wouldn't be returning to her. This had been the _Hood's_ first…and last battle.

Shouts and cries of anger and dismay filled the unit's radio net, telling Orson that at least some of the other pilots had taken his cue and broken off from their pursuit of the Blakists.

"Come on, sir…lets blow those bastards out of the sky!"

"We're not going to let them get away with this, are we?"

Croft stared mutely at the gutted warship for several moments, watching the fires rapidly die as they ran out of both fuel and air. As the flames subsided, so did his anger, replaced by an icy calm. Just then, his threat receivers lit up. Checking his displays, he realised they had strayed into the _Vincent's_ weapon arcs. His radar display showed the tracks of inbound Barracuda missiles, just a couple of which would obliterate his fighter.

Damaged and low on fuel, his _Stingrays_ wouldn't last long, even against a relatively poorly armed ship like the _Vincent_…and there was still the matter of the _McKenna_, which was currently picking up its surviving fighters.

"Red Leader to all Red Kites, form up on me and prepare to depart the combat zone at max throttle…we're heading back to Britannia".

There were no protests. Evidently the other pilots had picked up the battlecruiser's approach as well.

"Live to fight another day, Oz?" Over one of the command frequencies, Laziridis' husky voice was laden with sadness, but tinged with relief.

"Its all we can do now, Toni", _'…and hope we get a chance to repay them in spades'_, he thought, gritting his teeth until his jaw hurt.

* * *

**BGS** Bismarck,  
**Britannia System,**  
**Britannic Coalition,**  
**The Periphery**

The hooded figure seemed to radiate an air of menace. "A poorly executed plan of attack, Demi-Precentor", the man said, his back to Truscott as he watched the burning warship on the main viewscreen. "Our superiors will not take the loss of two warships lightly".

Truscott swallowed hard, resisting the urge to point out that it had been the other man's idea to send the smaller ships in first. "Nevertheless, we have emerged victorious, Precentor", he offered nervously.

It was hard to argue that the loss of one destroyer and the crippling of another, was a small price to pay for the destruction of one old, if powerful, battleship.

"Indeed. Let us hope our misguided brothers and sisters take this as an object lesson on what happens to those who turn their backs on the True Path".

"Praise be to Blake for guiding us to victory", said Truscott dutifully, though inwardly he was relieved that the Coalition defence had been broken without the _Bismarck_ having to engage in a prolonged battle. As it was, the loss of the _Deliverance_ and the _Justice_, not to mention the decimation of his aerospace assets were going to be hard enough to cope with.

"Truly, His hand has guided our course", said the figure in front of the viewscreen, dryly.

He turned round and stared straight at Truscott, although he was still only able to make out the vague outline of a face in the shadowy depths of the robe's hood. "Make best speed for Britannia and bring us into geostationary orbit above the capital. Notify me immediately upon our arrival. Until then I shall be in my quarters".

"You do not wish to contact them immediately, sir?"

The robed figure didn't even break his stride as he walked away, "If we keep them waiting, it will give them more time to ponder their fate. By putting the fear of Blake into them, it may make them more accepting of their fate…making our mission all the easier".

"As you wish, sir", said Truscott, saluting as the robed figure swept past him and left the bridge. As the door hissed shut, he relaxed slightly. The man made him nervous and it wasn't just his imposing physical presence or his eccentric behaviour. Rumour had it the Precentor was involved with the 6th June Movement – an ultra-fanatical splinter group of the Toyama faction, led by none other than Cameron St Jamais. One of the most powerful men in the Order, he had been Demona Aziz's right hand until her untimely demise. Truscott had also heard whispers that St Jamais had, in fact, been behind her death.

Of course, the Movement's existence was more legend than fact, as were many of the stories surrounding St Jamais, but in an organisation as fractured and chaotic as the Word of Blake, with its numerous would-be leaders, hidden agendas and shifting alliances, he would have bet a hefty wad of C-bills on them being true.

* * *

**Naval Command Station,**  
**Great Yarmouth, Britannia,**  
**Britannic Coalition,**  
**The Periphery**

The NCS had been a hive of frenzied activity, ever since the _Hood's_ initial reports of an unidentified fleet entering the system. The level of tension had risen steadily as the situation unfolded, turning into a state of near panic on learning that their uninvited guests belonged to the Word of Blake.

Panic had turned to quiet, disbelieving terror as the _Hood_ had reported being fired upon and that she was preparing to engage two of the enemy vessels. Communications since then had been sporadic. At first the messages had been optimistic, but then had come the report of a massed attack by aerospace fighters. Since then, they had heard nothing. A short time later, her transponder signal had disappeared. All they could do was watch and wait as the enemy contacts moved further and further in system. In a few hours they'd be in position to launch dropships. A few more and they would be able to carry out an orbital bombardment.

"Any response yet?" the highly agitated station commander asked for the umpteenth time.

"Sorry sir", replied the comms tech, turning in her seat and shaking her head apologetically. "I can't raise her on any frequency. I think we have to assume…"

"Contacts!" interrupted the sensor operator nervously. "I count eight…ten…fourteen small craft, inbound at high speed". There was a pause. "Transponder IDs show them as Stingrays…from the Samuel Hood", he finished, his voice dropping to barely a whisper in the suddenly quiet control centre.

"Sir - I've got an incoming transmission from one of the fighters!" said the comms tech.

"Put it on speakers!" This was not a time for confidentiality.

The voice that came through was tired and emotional, letting everyone know just what kind of hell its owner had been though.

"This is Adept Orson Croft, commander of naval air wing Eta I. We have just fought a pitched battle against an enemy fleet and aerospace force, five times our strength". There was a pause as the pilot got a grip on his emotions.

"The Hood has been destroyed. We took out one Blakist destroyer and crippled another…but then their McKenna engaged us. I don't know whether there were any survivors, but…"

"Adept Croft, this is Demi-Precentor Ian Carruthers, NCS Great Yarmouth. We picked up the transponder signals of over forty escape pods and lifeboats just over half an hour ago. We're dispatching rescue teams to their projected landing sites".

The relief in the pilot's voice was audible. "Blake be praised, I…"

"Listen, can you confirm the Hood's destruction?"

"What? Weren't you listening just now? I said…"

"Yes, I heard what you said. What I meant was…is there anything left at all?"

Croft's voice was suddenly wistful. "That's the funny thing you know…she's more or less intact…provided those bastards don't decide to use her for target practice. From what I saw, it looked like her forward missile magazine exploded…damn near tore the bow off, but apart from that, she's still in one piece. Won't be much left inside though. It was like watching a nuclear bomb go off inside a tin can. The blast and fire will have pretty much scoured her clean".

He sighed. "With a little work, she might make a good museum piece".

There was a moment of complete silence in the control tower as everyone absorbed that piece of news.

"We're reading you inbound. What are your intentions?" asked Carruthers.

"Well, I have a bunch of damaged kites that are low on fuel and ammo and several wounded pilots that need medical attention. With your permission, we'll land at your airfield. If you can arrange for a tech unit and medical team to RV with us, I can give you half a wing ready to fight again inside a couple of hours. In the meantime, if you can call on any other naval assets, do it ASAP. I'm sure you've been tracking them, but there's a McKenna and a Vincent Mk42 inbound…not to mention a Potemkin with a full complement of dropships, ETA three to six hours. Failing that, you need to contact the MoD to get our ground forces on full alert. These bastards look intent on staging a full-blown invasion…"


	30. Operation Dynamo

**Ministry of Defence,**  
**Westminster,**  
**Britannia, Britannic Coalition,**  
**The Periphery**

"I see…very well. No thank you…the MoD will handle it from here. Rest assured we will take every measure necessary to safeguard the planet…along with the rest of the Coalition. No, you do not need to know what those measures entail. Do what you must to ensure the safety of your people". Precentor Commander Robert Jackson took a deep breath as he ended the call from NCS Great Yarmouth and forced himself to calm down.

He got up from his desk and walked over to the window to stare out at Chiswick Park, which dominated the centre of the city. The sight of the varied green and brown hues of the trees and the riot of colours from the flowers that were still flourishing in the mild early autumn, rarely failed to please and impress him. This time, however, the gravity of the situation denied him any enjoyment of the spectacle.

Reluctantly, Jackson turned back to his desk, sat down and punched the Regent's number into his com unit.

A few seconds later Sandringham's face was staring up at him from the unit's display screen. From the painting behind his desk, Jackson immediately recognised the Regent was in his office at Blenheim Palace, about four miles west of the MoD building. The ruler of the Coalition was looking troubled, but no more so than he had been for the last few weeks. That was about to change.

"Robert…I assume this is an update on those unscheduled arrivals in system?"

"Yes, sir. I'm afraid the situation is much graver than we had originally thought. We are, in fact, looking at a worst-case scenario".

Sandringham's face betrayed just the faintest flicker of fear before he regained control.

"In that case, call me Will. No point standing on ceremony if the fate of the Coalition is hanging in the balance", he said, looking pale, but otherwise outwardly composed.

Jackson nodded. "The series of inbound jump signatures detected by the Navy, at the L2 point, did indeed turn out to be warships…five to be exact. Shortly afterwards they were identified as belonging to the Word of Blake".

He paused to gauge the Regent's reaction, but he saw that Will had guessed what was coming from his use of the "worst-case scenario" phrase.

Sandringham simply nodded. "Please continue".

"It appears the fleet comprised a McKenna class battleship, two destroyers, a corvette…and a Potemkin troop carrier". This time when he looked down at the screen, Will perceptibly flinched.

"Two of the Blakist vessels engaged the battleship Samuel Hood on the far side of Chard. It seems they hoped that with the moon between them and Britannia, any attempt to warn us would be blocked. However, the Hood was able to transmit two messages, before she went silent. From the available reports it seems that, after a short but vicious battle, the Hood was destroyed, although not before she destroyed one of the destroyer escorts and crippled the other. A number of escape pods and lifeboats were recovered by NCS Great Yarmouth and it appears a number of her fighters made it back".

Sandringham closed his eyes and mentally offered up a brief prayer for the souls of those who perished aboard the Hood.

"So…they finally found us", William said, opening his eyes and leaning back in his chair, "After all these years…"

"And they're not exactly being subtle about their intentions either, Will".

"That Potemkin carries what…twenty dropships?"

"More like twenty five, sir".

"That's enough to transport five Divisions…and then some…"

"Closer to seven actually, sir", said Jackson, frowning.

"And since we started stripping our military assets here to send to Wellington, that leaves us with what…one Division?"

"Correct, sir…although that's only by happy coincidence. The 201st Division are on planet right now, conducting training exercises down in Belgravia. It'd be hard on our logistics chain, but they could be diverted here in 6 hours or so. Don't forget we also have the Coyote Cavaliers. That gives us a reinforced battalion, based just a couple of hours west of here."

Sandringham sighed and slumped forward with his head in his hands, "To what purpose, Rob? With odds of over 6 to one, they wouldn't stand a chance".

"I wasn't thinking about trying to hold the planet sir. With those odds we'd be stupid to even consider it. If we could at least put a token force together, it might buy us enough time to get an evacuation going. Get the civilians out of the city – that's what they'll be going for. We could also relocate our main government functions, personnel and classified data off-world. I doubt the Blakists will waste time and manpower combing every habitation centre. As long as they control the seat of power, they'll be happy".

"I assume you have somewhere in mind?"

Jackson nodded fervently as the plan rapidly came together in his mind. "Newcastle, sir…we'd be protected by the Arcturus station. That thing's got more firepower than any warship ever constructed. I'd like to see those bastards try and get an invasion force past that!"

Sandringham stared into the distance as he mulled over the options. As far as he could see, there weren't any viable alternatives.

He stared up at Jackson, "Very well. Put your plan into immediate effect". The corner of his mouth twitched upward in a half-smile. "How about a name for this hare-brained scheme of yours? We'll need one for the history books…if we live through this".

Jackson gave a wry smile and stared down at the desk for a few moments. "I believe Operation Dynamo would be a fitting name, sir", he said raising his head to meet the Regent's stare.

Sandringham nodded soberly, "A very apt choice, Robert". Operation Dynamo had been the name given to a massive military evacuation, during the early stages of the Second World War on twentieth-century Terra, when the forces of good had been forced to withdraw in the face of an enemy in the ascendancy.

Jackson picked his uniform cap off the desk and made to leave. "I'll put orders out to begin the evacuation immediately. I'll do it through the police and local TA units…if the media vultures get wind of this, they'll have the entire planet in a mass panic".

"Good thinking, Rob. Don't let them know anything until the last possible minute. Knowing them, they'll want to hang around to watch the Blakists roll into the city".

Jackson shrugged, "I for one won't try to deny them that right".

He stopped at the door and turned. "I'll have our mercenary liaison contact the Cavaliers. I'll also cut orders for the 201st to transfer from Belgravia. They've only just got back to Divisional strength after the hammering they took in '58, but Precentor Koivu's been waiting ten years for the chance for some payback…however poor the odds. I know she'll have her troops fired up for this".

"Please make sure you stress she doesn't have to defeat them…just hold them up long enough for us to complete the evacuation".

"Don't worry, Will. She's one of our most experienced commanders. If I know her, she'll want revenge, but she won't let it cloud her judgement".

"I know her too, Rob…"

"Yes, if memory serves, she was your old unit commander back on Terra".

"Correct. She was a stubborn old goat back then and I doubt she's changed much since".

"True…but would you want anyone else in charge of our defences?"

Sandringham had to concede the point.

"I take it you'll be evacuating along with the rest of the Palace staff, sir?" Jackson knew better but had to ask the question anyway.

The Regent fixed him with an offended expression. "That's not even funny, Rob. As soon as I'm done here, I shall be going directly to the mech hangars with the rest of the Palace Guard. I won't let Margo take sole responsibility for the defence of a world she's not familiar with. I intend to use the Guard and any TA units we can muster, to support her for as long as necessary".

"Sir, you do know there's a good chance you'll be killed or captured if you remain here. How long is it since you piloted a mech in combat? You have heard what these butchers do to prisoners…especially high-ranking ones?" said Jackson heatedly, more than a little exasperated by his ruler's brave but foolhardy attitude.

Sandringham's gaze softened but remained solemn and determined. "Rob, I can't turn and run while our troops fight and die to protect the people. When the future of the Coalition is at stake, even I am expendable…"

* * *

**BCAF Harlow Training Centre,**  
**Belgravia,**  
**Britannia**

"General, I have an incoming transmission from Westminster, Priority Alpha…its Precentor Commander Jackson, ma'am", said the comms officer, nervously.

Precentor Margo Koivu, commander of the 201st Division, was analysing the results of the Winged Warriors latest training exercise with her command staff, when her train of thought was brought to a crashing halt.

She put a hand up to stop the comms officer transferring the call to her. "I'll take it in the office", she said, pointing to the small, closed off area of the Operations Centre that served as a makeshift office. "Excuse me gentlemen", she said to her subordinates, getting up from the large conference table that dominated the centre of the room and walking briskly to the office.

As she sat down at the desk she saw from the green light blinking on the com unit that the call had been transferred. She hit the answer button.

"Koivu here".

"Margaret, Rob Jackson here".

"So I see", she said drily, "I assume this isn't a social call?"

"Sorry – I wasn't sure if you were getting a good signal or not", said Jackson.

Ironically, despite having rapidly established a functional, if not top-class, HPG network, the Coalition was still in the process of developing its planetary communications. Long-distance link-ups tended to be patchy at best and sometimes went down completely, leaving distant cities or even entire continents cut off from each other. It could take days or even weeks to re-establish them. Even military communications were subject to the occasional blackout.

"I'm receiving you loud and clear. If you were calling for my official report on Operation Pegasus, I'm afraid I'm still reviewing the outcomes with my staff", said Koivu.

"Must've caught you on a good day", said Jackson. "Anyway, I'm afraid this isn't about your training exercise, although, since you mentioned it, how did it go?"

Koivu made a noncommittal noise, "Well, I'm happy to report that the troops responded well, in every department, to the scenarios we threw at them…especially considering the number of new recruits in our ranks. Of course, there is room for improvement, but overall, I couldn't have asked much more from them".

"That's just as well…because I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask a lot more from them".

Koivu listened in growing shock and anger as Jackson briefed her on the events of the last few hours.

"Listen, I'm not asking your troops to win this war for us", Jackson continued, "We're just trying to buy some time so we can evacuate the capital and relocate our government. I won't lie to you - even that's going to be a hell of a task, as we expect to be heavily outnumbered".

Margo's expression didn't even flicker, "You know me Robert, I always did like a challenge".

Jackson gave a rueful smile, "If its any comfort, we will have the Coyote Cavaliers supporting us. The Regent has also decided to remain behind with the House Guard".

Koivu gave a wry smile, "For some reason, I'm not surprised", she said, shaking her head.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and looked straight into the com unit's camera, her pale grey eyes full of steely determination. "I'd crawl over broken glass for a chance to pay those bastards back for what they did to us on Terra. You don't need to cut any orders, sir…I'll have us packed up and on our way in the next two hours".


	31. The Hunt Begins

**BGS** Bismarck,  
**Geosynchronous Orbit, Britannia**

"I think we've given them long enough…its time to make our entrance", the robed figure looked up from the communications console and fixed Demi-Precentor Truscott with a hooded gaze.

"Sir?" enquired Truscott cautiously.

"It is clear from the comms intercepts we've been getting that they know we're here. The longer we delay planet-fall, the longer they have to prepare their defences".

"Surely you do not believe the Coalition can muster anything that would pose a serious threat to our forces?"

Truscott once again felt uncomfortably like a specimen under a microscope as the Precentor's invisible gaze continued to bore into him. "William Sandringham may be a heretic, but he was once a highly decorated officer in the Com Guards and I for one do not intend to underestimate him. He may not have the resources to match us, but I am sure he will conjure up a few unpleasant surprises for us".

"Indeed it is unwise to underestimate your enemy, but with Blake's hand to guide us, but I cannot foresee any outcome other than a glorious victory for us. After all, we are instruments of his divine Will", said the _Bismarck's_ commander, surprising his superior with his conviction.

The Precentor gave a smile that went unseen in the shadows of his hood. "You are, of course, correct. Send word to the Righteous Fury to prepare the 66th Shadow Division for planetary assault".

"A single Division, sir? Are you sure that's wise?"

The Precentor sighed. In many ways it was useful to have intelligent underlings…the problems began when they started to question your decisions. He made a mental note to arrange for the _Bismarck's_ captain to meet with an unfortunate accident, as soon as this operation was over.

"Just as we should not underestimate Sandringham, he would be most unwise to underestimate Precentor Alastor".

Truscott shuddered at his recollection of the 66th's commander. "Indeed, sir".

Shadow Divisions were staffed exclusively by Manei Domini; bio-mechanically enhanced warriors that were among the Word of Blake's newest weapons in their war against the Inner Sphere. Essentially human, the Manei Domini were engineered with parts of their skeletal structure replaced by endo-steel and muscles replaced with myomer bundles, giving them superhuman strength and endurance. An array of devices could also be implanted in their limbs and brains, to give them superhuman reflexes, speed of thought and other abilities. Married to the brand new Celestial class omnimechs, it made them the most potent mechwarriors ever to take to the battlefield. Encased in Purifier, or the newer Demon class battle armour, they became virtually unstoppable footsoldiers.

For a few moments he felt a measure of pity for the people on the planet far below them…until he remembered they were heretics who had turned from the True Path.

'_They shall receive Blake's Justice and be cleansed of their wrongdoings'_, he thought silently as he gave orders for the _Righteous Fury_ to begin the assault.

* * *

**BGS** Righteous Fury,  
**Geosynchronous Orbit, Britannia**

"Sir, I have an incoming transmission from the Bismarck. Codeword is Ascendant, repeat codeword is Ascendant". The comms officer shot a puzzled glance at her commander.

Demi-Precentor Surana Mehdi narrowed her large emerald eyes and brushed a stray strand of long raven hair from her face. "We are to commence Operation Jericho", she translated for the benefit of the bridge crew. "Did the message say anything else?"

"Only that the 66th Shadow Division are to make the initial deployment. Further units to be deployed as required".

Mehdi's eyes widened slightly. "The Keres? That should makes things interesting".

She shivered as she remembered the few meetings she'd had with Manei Domini troops. Conditioned to be cold and calculating, they acted largely without thought for themselves or others, focusing solely on their mission objectives. To her way of thinking, they were more machine than human.

She gave herself a mental shake, returning her mind to the present. "Comms, alert dropships seven through eleven to begin pre-flight checks. Operation Jericho to commence in thirty minutes".

"Operation Jericho to commence in thirty minutes, aye sir".

Anticipating that her superior would order the invasion to begin immediately, Mehdi had ordered the dropship crews and troops to embark, shortly before they'd made the jump in system. Having been confined to the dropships now for over two hours, she imagined they would be only too eager to depart and begin their mission.

* * *

**Skies over Richmond,**  
**20km Southwest of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

Fire turned the late evening sky various hues of orange and yellow, as half a dozen _Overlord_ dropships descended through Britannia's upper atmosphere. Their main drives blazed brightly in the semi-darkness, looking for all the world like so many malevolent asteroids, intent on ending their flights in fiery impacts on the planet's surface. If any of the small village's inhabitants had remained behind to watch, their pale grey paint schemes, coupled with the broadsword-and-hyperpulse insignia would have been cause enough for worry. The bloody handprint logos that adorned each craft spoke of an even more terrifying threat.

To the surprise of their crews, their descent continued uninterrupted, all the way to the designated landing site. To the occupants of the shuttle that followed a short distance behind the dropships, the lack of opposition was distinctly disconcerting.

"Set sensors to maximum range and scan again!" snapped the robed figure in the co-pilot's seat.

"Aye, sir", said the flight engineer dutifully. Seated at his console behind the pilot, he made the necessary adjustments and reset his displays. Still, they remained worryingly blank, which coincided with the reports they'd been getting from the dropship captains.

"Still no readings, sir", he said nervously. "Diagnostics show all systems working normally".

"Where in Blake's name are they?" the Precentor muttered to himself.

He had felt supremely confident that Sandringham would either meet him head on, in a desperate last-ditch attempt to contain the invasion force, or at least spring some kind of ambush to try and throw his forces into confusion. He felt almost insulted that their arrival appeared to have gone unnoticed.

"No", he said, shaking his head, "They know we're here and they will be waiting for us. The question is where?"

The pilot followed the Precentor's instructions and set the shuttle down just under a kilometre away from the main landing zone, in a clearing in a stand of trees, hiding it from casual observation. His instincts were telling him something wasn't right and he wanted his personal transport kept away from the huge targets that the dropships presented to any would-be attacker.

By the time they'd made the walk back to the LZ, taking in the sights along the way, the dropships were beginning to unload their cargo.

* * *

**Outskirts of Richmond,**  
**20km Southwest of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

The Precentor took the time to survey the immediate surroundings. There appeared to be a small habitation area, a kilometre or so to the northeast. The lights from buildings and street lighting twinkled faintly in the murky twilight. Apart from that, the landscape appeared to consist entirely of sparsely wooded areas, fields and gently rolling hills. Hardly the ideal terrain in which to spring an ambush.

He hefted the rucksack on his shoulder, which contained among other things, a set of night vision goggles, a couple of large metal flasks, containing the hard-to-get, Clan-brewed Fusionnaire, several boxes of shells for the Oriente 900 combat shotgun he carried across his other shoulder and a case of fragmentation grenades.

'_You can't hide from me forever, William Sandringham'_, he thought as he came up to the dropship carrying his personal battlemech, _'As Blake is my witness, the wrongs of a decade ago will be righted over the coming days'_.

The area immediately around the _Heretic's Curse_ was a hive of activity. He was pleased to note similar activity around the other four dropships. Dodging people, vehicles and battlemechs, he made his way up the personnel ramp and took the lift to the bridge.

The dropship's skipper was the centre of a whirlwind of activity and the Precentor had to fight through a steady stream of people, headed in various directions, to reach him. He was at the communications console, deep into a heated argument with someone in another part of the ship and ignored the Precentor, until he reached out with his shotgun and jabbed a button on the console with the end of the barrel, cutting the link.

"What the…?" The dropship captain, a short rotund man, turned angrily and found himself staring at the Precentor's chest. His gaze moved up to the man's hooded face.

"What do you want…sir?" he said, managing to convey just the barest amount of respect for his superior.

The Precentor was annoyed at the man's borderline insolence but there were more important things to do than waste time berating this oaf.

"My battlemech", he hissed softly, his words clearly audible on the suddenly quiet bridge, "I shall be going to Mech Bay 1 directly and I want it given priority for unloading, along with the rest of my unit".

"Impossible!" said the dropship captain, scowling, "Do you have any idea how…"

He broke off as the shotgun barrel rose once more, this time coming to rest on his forehead. The Precentor exerted just enough pressure for the end of the barrel to leave a mark.

"I said, I want _immediate_ priority…" he said, his tone now conversational…almost friendly. "Otherwise one of your subordinates will be getting an early promotion. Do I make myself clear?"

The captain went pale. The Precentor was clearly even more of a lunatic than the rumours had said. He swallowed hard. "Yes, sir…crystal", he managed.

By the time the Precentor reached the mech bay, he was not surprised to find it crawling with techs, making last-minute checks, to ensure its occupants were at full operational readiness. With his role as _de facto_ mission commander he had obtained a temporary position in the Level II command unit, much to the commanding officer's chagrin. As a further "perk" he got to pilot one of the new Celestial class Omnimechs - the most advanced battlemechs in the Inner Sphere. Together, the sextet formed a Level II unit with an unrivalled mix of firepower and reconnaissance capability.

He walked slowly over to the gantry that held his own mech, taking time to admire its appearance, a combination of aggressive angular lines and utilitarian minimalism. For a 70-ton heavy mech, the _Deva Invictus_ possessed none of the bulk or the ungainly appearance of some of its more primitive, counterparts. While lacking the graceful looks of the lighter _Preta_, or the heavier _Archangel_, the numerous weapon mounts spoke volumes about its destructive capability. The pair of blade-shaped antennae that rose from the back of the cockpit gave it the appearance of an angry bird of prey. The tip of the retractable battle blade, mounted on its right arm, glinted dangerously in the glare from the bay lights.

He rode the lift up to the top of the gantry and made the short walk to the end of the platform, where a tech waited by the cockpit. Putting down the shotgun, sack and flasks, the Precentor spread his arms, raising them above his head. With his eyes closed and face upturned, he chanted the traditional prayer, given by all Word of Blake combat troops before entering their mechs, vehicles, fighters or battle armour.

Unlike True Believers, who believed that the success of any mission depended on Blake's divine guidance and the co-operation of the machine's spirit, as much as strategy and tactics, Precentor Ricardo Swindelli's performance was purely for show. The only person he truly believed in was himself.

Finished, he picked up his gear and stowed it in the small locker behind the command couch. With a curt nod to the tech, he climbed in, retrieving his neurohelmet from the shelf above the canopy before sitting down in the command couch. Like most of the Celestial class omnimechs, the _Deva Invictus_ had excellent heat dissipation, so he'd opted for a traditional cooling vest and shorts, rather than the new full-body suits some pilots were now opting for. This particular mech had also been significantly modified, with the neural interface used by Manei Domini pilots, replaced with a conventional control system.

Strapping himself into the couch with the five-point harness, he then plugged his cooling vest into the usual socket, built into the left-hand side of the cockpit, which circulated a small fraction of the mech's coolant through the vest's tubes. He then donned the neurohelmet, plugging its various jacks into the correct ports on the command console.

The Precentor's fingers danced over the controls with practised ease. Although he'd never actually piloted a Celestial class mech before, he'd spent many hours in the _Bismarck's_ simulator pods, going through every scenario in their data banks. The only time he'd actually spent in the _Deva_ was while he and his techs had been configuring it for his use. There was a hum and a whir of cooling fans as the mech's master computer booted up.

"Pattern check, Ricardo Swindelli", he said, once the primary display told him the boot-up sequence was complete.

"Voice pattern match confirmed, proceed with initiation sequence", came the electronic voice of the computer after a few moments.

"All your base are belong to us", he intoned.

"Authorisation confirmed, all systems released to your control", responded the computer.

By way of visual confirmation, the battle computer hummed into life. Additional graphics on the HUD and lights on the control console lit up, telling him the mech's weapon systems were now on-line.

A series of muted thuds and hisses told him the tech crew had released the hydraulic clamps that held the giant war machine in place during transit. Looking out of the canopy, he could see one of them in front of him, backing away slowly and waving him forward with a pair of illuminated wands.

Swindelli pushed the throttle a quarter of the way forward and steered towards the bay door, which in its open position, now served as a ramp. He was not quite prepared for the speed and agility with which the machine moved and he had to quickly slow down and correct his movement, to avoid crushing the tech to a bloody pulp. The unfortunate crewman threw his wands away and dived for cover anyway. His hasty sidestep caused the _Deva's_ right arm to graze the door frame, the minor impact jolting him in his command couch and causing a teeth-grinding screech of metal on metal. Swindelli unleashed a stream of curses as he completed the short trip down the ramp in a jerky, uncoordinated fashion, more befitting a rookie than a veteran warrior.

As he waited for the rest of his unit, he tried to calm down, telling himself that simulator runs were never quite the same as the real thing. The mech had been designed to be controlled via a VDNI system. Having it removed and replaced with a conventional neurohelmet interface was doubtless affecting the machine's performance too.

"Being at one with your machine", was an ancient phrase and one which he understood fully. His personal belief though, was that it was possible to achieve that, simply by working with a battlemech until you knew every subtle nuance of its behaviour, under any given conditions. Another privately held belief, which he would never share with anyone, was that his masters had gone too far in creating the MD troops.

Through the VDNI system, they were effectively wet-wired to their battlemechs. While the direct connection to their machines had demonstrably increased their combat capability, it also made them much more susceptible to injury from energy surges or "feedback" (usually caused by gyro overload or weapons damage). To combat this, so-called "pain shunts" had been developed, which basically dampened the pilot's neural receptors when their activity reached a critical threshold. This prevented the pilot blacking out. It also allowed them to keep fighting after sustaining injuries that would cripple ordinary beings.

He shuddered. There were times when he wouldn't have minded having the enhanced senses, strength and mental capabilities of the MD, however, to be so drastically and irrevocably altered, was a much higher price than he was willing to pay. Then there were the cases where implants had gone bad. Sometimes the subject had simply been left with impaired senses or physical abilities, but in other cases they had been driven insane or reduced to a vegetative state.

He shook his head. While the Manei Domini had proven to be frighteningly effective against anything the House armies could throw at them, particularly the elite Opacus Venatori, he couldn't believe that Jerome Blake would have approved of the melding of man and machine, to the point where you could barely tell where one ended and the other began.

As he glanced around him, he saw that the rest of the command Level II had formed up, apparently awaiting orders. Precentor Omicron Alastor's assault-class _Archangel_ loomed over them all, like some ravenous bird of prey. Activating his radio, he selected the Divisional command frequency.

"Precentor Alastor, are your troops ready to move out?"

"Delta, Epsilon and Theta units are still disembarking. Estimate at least another thirty minutes before we are ready to move out".

Swindelli frowned. He couldn't decide if the Manei Domini's clipped, almost mechanical tone, was a result of his biomechanical augmentations, or simply because the man disliked him. Relations between normal humans and MD were often strained at best. Although utterly obedient and unquestioningly devoted to the Cause, they considered themselves superior beings, made in the Master's image and looked upon normal people as frail and flawed. In fact they referred to un-augmented humans as "Frails".

To say they made him uneasy was a masterpiece of understatement. Especially the ones with more subtle modifications who looked entirely normal…until you saw them beat someone to a pulp or punch through a wall.

He sighed impatiently. "Very well, we will go on ahead with III Alpha and recon the surrounding area. The rest are to follow our nav points when they're ready".

"Very well, commander", Alastor paused before continuing. "This is a truly beautiful world, Precentor Swindelli. Let us hope we are not forced to inflict too much damage upon it".

Swindelli shook his head, bemused as Alastor switched III-Alpha's command channel.

Most people thought the Manei Domini were simply cold, unfeeling, killing machines. In combat, this was largely true, but they were still human. Enough that they retained a genuine sense of aesthetics. He had learned that, when they were not fighting, they tended to indulge in hobbies, ranging from art, music, poetry and even nature. Talking to them could be a baffling experience, as they could shift effortlessly from discussing the annihilation of a city, or even an entire planet, to the merits and flaws of painters and composers.

'_And I thought Clanners were weird!'_ he thought as he throttled the _Deva_ to cruising speed, his 70-ton mech and an 85-ton _Seraph_ to his left, forming the fulcrum of the unit's line of advance. The other four mechs spread out on either side, creating an elongated V shape. All six machines were linked by a sophisticated C3i system, which allowed each pilot to communicate and co-ordinate with the others. Additionally, each mech received sensor feeds from the others, giving them a much more detailed view of the terrain and positional data on all contacts.

With sensors clear of contacts, the sextet advanced confidently at the head of the 66th III-Alpha, known to its troops as the Hand of Blake. The distance to the nearest settlement diminished rapidly.


	32. Wolves on the Fold

**Outskirts of Richmond,**  
**Southwest of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

The half-dozen Celestial omnimechs skirted the eastern side of the town, running at a steady cruising speed of 53kph. Their running lights and searchlights were off, Swindelli having instructed them to switch their primary displays to night-vision. For once he was thankful of the unit's garish paint scheme. Mainly deep crimson, it would be near-invisible in the darkness. Even so, crossing this huge expanse of lightly-wooded scrubland, Swindelli felt very exposed. He consoled himself with the fact that the lack of cover worked both ways…there was little chance of being ambushed in terrain like this.

Squinting slightly, as he stared at the grainy green image offered by the night-vision system, he could just make out the jagged outlines of the next obstacle in their path…a chain of large, sparsely wooded hills. Just a few kilometres beyond them, lay their ultimate objective, the city of Westminster.

Having seen the fear and confusion created by the devastating attacks on Tharkad and New Avalon, Swindelli was certain that capturing the capital world of this, much smaller Periphery state would cause the other member worlds to fall into line. After all, what could a ragtag bunch of farmers, merchants and scientists muster against the most formidable military force in the Inner Sphere?

On giving him this mission, Precentor St Jamais had told him it was essential to establish the 6th June Movement as a power in the Periphery, a precursor to spreading the light of Blake's Divine Wisdom to the darkest corners of the Inner Sphere.

After Precentor Aziz's failed attempts at creating conflict between the Magistracy of Canopus and Taurian Concordat, into which the WoB was supposed to step in as mediator, it was decided that a smaller, easier target was required. After more than ten years of searching, bribing and threatening, ROM had finally acquired enough data to track the renegades who had fled Terra, to their hiding place…and so this golden opportunity to prove himself to St Jamais had presented itself.

As far as Swindelli was concerned, bringing enlightenment and order to the margins of civilisation was of secondary importance.

He stared down at his left arm, at the mass of red, uneven scar tissue that ran almost the length of his forearm…a constant visible reminder of the operation to reconstruct the limb he'd nearly lost ten years ago, during the invasion of Terra, which had driven Comstar from the cradle of humanity. Bone had been replaced with titanium alloy and muscle with myomer. Numerous skin grafts had been required to replace lost tissue and they had healed patchily, more reminiscent of tree bark than anything else.

He still had occasional flashbacks to the moment when one of his _Grand Crusader's_ missile racks had exploded after taking a critical hit. The resulting explosion had hurled the mech to the ground and the side of the cockpit had caved in on impact, crushing his arm.

He flexed the repaired limb and winced as he felt the metal and myomer, working at odds with the bone, tendons and muscle of his shoulder. It nearly always hurt. Still, the massive increase in strength occasionally came in handy.

No. As far as he was concerned, this mission was about payback and personal advancement. Success here would raise his standing within the Toyama, the faction he hoped to eventually lead, ultimately uniting the Word of Blake and using their power and influence within the Marik government to seize control of the Free Worlds League.

He was still daydreaming when his sensors picked up half a dozen hostile contacts, just under a kilometre away, scattered among several patches of woodland on the lower slopes of the hills. In rapid succession, more clusters of enemy contacts appeared on the display, arranged in a rough semicircle.

* * *

**Regulator Hovertank **Theta Six,  
**South Downs,**  
**10km Southwest of Westminster**

"Contact, bearing Zero Zero Five: range nine hundred metres! Looks like a light mech. Moving slowly…seems almost as though they're expecting to get bushwacked. Whoever it is they're certainly not in any hurry", called the sensor operator.

"I see it!" replied Demi-Precentor Martin Kristiansen tersely, checking his secondary display.

He keyed his radio to III-Theta's command frequency. "This is Theta Six to all units, target hostile contact, bearing Zero Zero Five - fire when ready".

He waited for the acknowledgements to come in from the other five tanks, before steeling himself for the anxious wait for the target to come within range of his tanks' gauss rifles. Behind him the gunner and loader went through their tasks to make sure they would be ready to give the invaders a warm welcome.

* * *

**Malak C-MK-O Omnimech,**  
**Approaching South Downs**

The command unit's smallest mech was on point duty and it's pilot bared his teeth in a ferocious grin, as half a dozen contacts appeared at the edge of his radar display. His grin vanished as the computer's warbook identified them as _Regulator_ hovertanks. Although small, they were highly mobile and their weapons commanded the respect of even mech pilots. He slowed his mech to walking pace and activated his radio.

"Shade One to Shade Six, I have contact with a Level Two of enemy hovertanks".

"Copy that, Shade One", said Alastor, "Are you under attack?"

"Negative. They are holding position in the woods".

"Copy that. Proceed on course and engage only if fired upon".

* * *

**Regulator Hovertank **Theta Six,  
**South Downs,**  
**10km Southwest of Westminster**

"Hold your fire!" ordered Kristiansen as the enemy mech entered weapons range. Firing at the extreme edges of a weapon's envelope was risky at best and he wanted the first strike to hit as hard as possible. The range crept below 800 metres…then 700…

"Fire!"

The darkness was briefly punctuated by half a dozen pale blue flashes, as all six _Regulators_ of II-Theta opened up, within a fraction of a second of each other. The _Malak_ presented a low, squat target and four gauss slugs flew high and wide of the mark. Two, however, slammed into the torso, obliterating the light armour protection and damaging the gyro housing. The Blakist mech staggered and fell, despite the pilot's best efforts, suffering additional damage as it crashed to the ground.

Kristiansen watched through the tank's night vision scope, as the enemy pilot wrestled the battered mech to its feet, his heart pounding as he waited for the gunner's call.

"Ready!"

"Fire!"

Again the tank rocked slightly as the enormous forces which propelled the quarter-ton, nickel-ferrous slug at hypersonic speeds, also attempted to push the 45-ton _Regulator_ backwards. It never failed to amaze him how quiet these tanks were in combat…just the continual hum of the magnetic coils charging and discharging and the faint "whoosh" as the slug accelerated along the barrel.

The second shot was on target, just as the first had been and this time the enemy mech stopped dead in its tracks, its torso forced round to the left by the impact. The rest of the unit chose that moment to open fire and this time, three more shots found their target, tearing large holes in the 30-ton mech's torso. It went down again and this time did not get up.

"Damn!" he muttered, impressed at how quickly they'd taken it down.

"How does it look, sir?" asked the gunner.

"No ejection pod. Looks like we've got ourselves one dead Blakist", replied Kristiansen with a grim smile.

Predictably there were whoops and yells from the rest of the crew.

"Let's not get too cocky lads", said the Demi-Precentor, "There are at least another five of the buggers out there…and plenty more behind them".

* * *

**Preta C-PRT-O Omnimech,**  
**Approaching South Downs**

Having heard her fellow scout's report of enemy armour units in the area, the _Preta's_ pilot wasn't surprised when her sensors painted six red squares on her radar display. Undaunted, she pressed on, activating her radio.

"Shade Two to Shade Six, enemy armour unit detected on our western flank. Moving to eliminate them".

Swindelli, listening in on the command frequency, was immediately on his guard, "Be careful, it may be an ambush".

"Copy that", came the curt, almost dismissive reply.

It seemed the rest of the Manei Domini felt the same way about Frails as their commander.

* * *

**Goblin LRM Carrier **Delta Six,  
**South Downs,**  
**10km Southwest of Westminster**

"Six to all units, confirm when Tango One is in range".

The Adept commanding the Level II of missile carriers waited for all his crews to report in.

"Open fire on my mark!"

LRMs were notoriously unreliable weapons, only truly effective when mated with the Artemis fire control system or NARC beacons. Since his unit had neither, he wanted to hit the target with a massed volley at the missiles' optimum range of around half a kilometre. At just under 600m his patience ran out.

"Mark!"

Each _Goblin_ carried a pair of LRM10 launchers, which made for a combined total of 120 missiles from the six tanks. The night was briefly turned to day by the blinding trails of fire as they leapt from the launchers and sped towards the target.

The Adept in command of II-Delta cursed as he realised they'd just given away their position to anyone within a couple of kilometres. Still, the dense, roiling curtain of exhaust smoke should help cover their retreat.

"All units fall back to Nav Point Bravo!" he called over the general frequency.

He sat back down in time to avoid being knocked off his feet, as the driver slammed the tank into reverse and stamped on the gas. The forty-five ton vehicle lurched and bounced over the uneven ground, the crew clinging on for dear life as it stopped abruptly, spun through a hundred and eighty degrees and made a sixty kilometre per hour dash, five hundred metres through light woodland, to their fallback position.

* * *

**Preta C-PRT-O Omnimech,**  
**Approaching South Downs**

The _Preta's_ pilot gave a start of alarm as her threat indicators lit up, warning of inbound missiles. Activating her AMS, she kicked the forty-five ton mech to its top speed of over ninety kilometres per hour and began a wide, arcing left turn, out of the missiles' path. What she couldn't know was that, while her course change took her away from the volleys fired by the first three tanks, it also brought her straight into path of the other three salvoes.

She heard the _Preta's_ AMS begin to whine and chatter as it tracked and destroyed the leading inbound missiles. However, it quickly exhausted the single ton of ammunition it carried and suddenly, the medium mech was slammed savagely sideways, as a barrage of fifteen LRMs impacted on the right-side torso. Warning lights flashed on her command console and the right-torso segment of her damage display went black, informing her that section had been destroyed. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to Blake that, beyond a number of heat sinks, there had been no critical equipment located there.

The pilot spun her mech round to face the unseen enemy lurking in the woods, trying to use the momentum imparted by the missiles to her advantage. It merely set her up for the final volley of LRMs, most of which caught the _Preta_ squarely in the centre torso, stripping away most of the armour. The hammering impacts also knocked the mech's delicate gyrostabiliser off-balance.

More alarms went off in the cockpit and she felt a momentary sensation of weightlessness as the omnimech fell. The pilot's disorientation was compounded by feedback from the gyro. The crashing impact as the _Preta_ hit the ground, threatened to cause her to black out. She was learning the hard way that, while the new neural interface gave one more complete control of a battlemech, it also made one more vulnerable.

Recovering her wits, she activated her radio. "Shade Two to Six, I am encountering heavy enemy resistance, half a kilometre north-east of my position, uploading as Nav Point Mu. Suggest we target the area with artillery".

After spending several minutes struggling futilely to stand her mech up, she found that powering down, then re-initiating the start-up sequence, gave the jolted gyro chance to realign itself. With difficulty, she hauled her battered machine to its feet and withdrew back to the command unit.


	33. Blitzkreig

**Deva Invictus Omnimech,**  
**66th Shadow Division Command Level II,**  
**Approaching South Downs**

Swindelli ground his teeth in frustration. It appeared Sandringham had indeed set traps for them…and he'd fallen right into them.

'_I should have known better'_, he thought. _'Typical of William to lull an opponent into a false sense of security, then strike when they least expect. Time and age haven't dulled his wits'_.

So far, they'd lost one of the Inner Sphere's most advanced omnimechs and had another severely damaged. To add insult to injury, all they'd faced so far were a hodgepodge collection of armour units! He could imagine what Precentor Alastor was thinking right now.

He activated his radio, selecting the private channel that linked him with the Manei Domini officer. "I think we should hold our position and wait for III-Alpha to catch up, before continuing our advance. I think it would also be advisable to have our scout armour move ahead of our advance so they can begin spotting targets for our artillery".

"You do not feel our mech force is adequate?" asked Alastor, his tone revealing nothing of his feelings.

Swindelli stifled a sigh of annoyance. "The heretics appear to have laid a sizeable ambush along the main route into Westminster and we're getting hit by armoured units, using the woods as cover. We need them destroyed quickly, or at least flushed out into the open where we can deal with them. Otherwise they'll just keep using these hit and run tactics to weaken us, before hitting us with their main forces".

Ricardo thought he detected the faintest trace of amusement in the Manei Domini officer's reply. "Very well, I shall order III-Theta to deploy a screening force of vehicles and have their artillery stand by to receive targets".

* * *

**III-Theta Muster Point,**  
**66th Shadow Division Field Base,**  
**20km South of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

Demi-Precentor Aran Mercer nodded as he listened to the instructions coming through his headset. "Affirmative, Precentor Alastor. I shall order the Scimitars to the designated co-ordinates and alert the Demolishers to stand by for targets".

Minutes later, the Level II of TAG-equipped _Scimitar_ light tanks were moving out of the temporary compound. The small, fast vehicles soon vanished into the darkness, the drivers preferring to use their night-vision equipment, rather than the vehicles' lights. Back in the compound, half a dozen massive _Demolisher_ tanks, equipped with Arrow artillery systems, rolled into their firing positions and deploying their bracing struts, while their launchers rose into the night sky.

* * *

**Regulator Hovertank **Theta Six,  
**South Downs,**  
**10km Southwest of Westminster**

"Theta Six to all units – I have six vehicles on fast approach, bearing Zero One Seven! Confirm sensor readings, over".

Demi-Precentor Kristiansen waited for confirmation from III-Theta's other unit commanders.

"What are your orders, sir?" asked the Adept in command of II-Bravo, which consisted of half a dozen _Sturmfeuer_ heavy tanks.

"We sit tight. I don't like the idea of going out to engage them with a bunch of enemy mechs roaming around".

In fact, he would have liked nothing better than to do just that. The waiting and hiding were getting on his nerves, but his briefing had been very clear on that point. They were to watch and report to the 201st Division's command unit, conducting hit and run operations when the opportunity presented itself. They were to avoid direct confrontation at all costs.

"How's it looking now?" he asked the sensor operator.

"Coming in fast and hard, sir…headed straight for us. Must be doing over sixty mph".

"By the Unfinished Book! We're not going to be able to outrun them…not in this terrain anyway".

It looked like they were going to get a direct confrontation, regardless of orders.

"Theta Six to all units, engage inbound hostiles as soon as they're in range".

* * *

**II-Gamma Scout Unit,**  
**Approaching South Downs**

"Scorpion Five to Lead, I have numerous contacts in the woods up ahead. It appears to be the enemy screening force".

"Copy that, Five…we will proceed as planned".

Just then the tree line, still some half a kilometre distant, came alive with flashes of autocannon fire and flame trails from missile launches, interspersed with bright monochrome beams of laser fire and the brilliant azure tendrils of particle cannon.

"This is Gamma Six to all units, take evasive action!" replied Adept commander calmly.

In response, the six light hovertanks slowed from their maximum speed charge and began to zigzag erratically, accelerating and slowing randomly. This made the already difficult task of targeting them, nearly impossible and the defending Coalition units succeeded mostly in blowing up large swathes of woodland.

The wood's edge loomed large in the sights of the gunner of Gamma Six and she unleashed the _Scimitar's_ dual SRM4 racks at the edge of their effective range.

The missiles streaked away into the night, their flight illuminated by the flare of their rocket motors. They fell slightly short of their target, but it didn't matter. Gamma Six's gunner had selected Inferno rounds and as the small explosive charge in the missiles' noses exploded on contact with the ground, they ignited the tank of napalm-like liquid in the main body, spraying the surrounding woodland with burning petroleum by-product.

As the other _Scimitars_ joined in the attack, the patches of woodland the Coalition units were using for cover became engulfed in flame.

* * *

**Regulator Hovertank **Theta Six,  
**South Downs,**  
**10km Southwest of Westminster**

Kristiansen listened to the shouts of alarm over the unit's radio net.

"Sir, the others are pulling back!" called the sensor operator.

He couldn't blame them. The _Regulators_ and _Maxims_ had a good turn of speed and could get out of tight spots easily, but the _Sturmfeur_ and _Ontos_ units were a good deal slower. Even the _Goblins_ would be hard pressed to keep the fast moving enemy in front of them.

"Bravo, Gamma, Delta and Epsilon fall back to the ridge line and regroup!" he called, switching over to the command frequency. "Alpha and Theta will provide cover".

He tapped the headset controls, selecting the individual unit frequencies. "Alpha and Theta – take out those damn hostiles. They are getting way too close for my liking!"

"I'll try, sir", replied his gunner, the man's exasperation evident, "but those things are moving like they're piloted by the ghost of Kerensky!"

A quick glance at the sensor readouts confirmed this. Despite the fact they were now encountering uneven terrain and light woods, the inbound hostiles, now identified as _Scimitar_ light hovertanks, were not slowing their advance. _'Whoever's piloting those things is either brave, suicidal or has a CPU for a brain!'_ he thought.

Looking through the low-light scope he saw the bright, steady beams of laser fire, the paler, toroidal discharge signature of gauss rifles and the bright flares of missiles, spanning the gap between his remaining units and the enemy. He winced as he saw most of the ordnance simply destroy more woodland.

Suddenly a blinding white flare filled the viewer, making him jump back and hit his head on his seat's headrest. He just had time to shout out a warning before the radio net came alive with panicked cries.

"Pull back – they're coming through!"

Kristiansen was hurled back into his seat as the driver enthusiastically complied with his order, his helmet saving him from serious head injuries as he was bounced against the turret's interior by the hovertank's sudden, violent manoeuvre.

The glare from the night vision scope subsided as the Inferno missile that had been fired at them, impacted on a stand of trees, directly in front of them. The searing napalm ignited the tress like so much tinder and quickly consumed them. The front of the _Regulator_ received a light showering of the burning fuel / naptha mix that soon burned itself out.

"Blake's Blood, that was close!"

The _Scimitars_ wove their way through the trees with inhuman speed and accuracy, easily catching the slower, tracked and wheeled Coalition tanks. Opening fire with their twin SRM4 launchers, they peppered their larger foes with a mix of regular and Inferno warheads. The standard missiles did little damage to the heavily armoured _Ontos_, _Zhukovs_ and _Sturmfeuers_, but the Infernos, dreaded by tank crews and mechwarriors alike, coated the vehicles in a burning, viscous, gel-like substance that vapourised any unprotected external equipment and turned the interiors into ovens, to the point that the air became too hot to breathe.

Kristiansen cringed inwardly as he heard more panicked cries over the radio net, amid orders to abandon vehicle. A quick scan with the night vision scope showed the woods lit up, like some strange pagan festival site, burning foliage and vehicles casting eerie shadows and silhouetting those who had elected to flee their vehicles.

As he watched, one _Scimitar_ strayed too close to a burning _Ontos_, just as the larger tank's ammunition cooked off. The resulting explosion annihilated the Coalition tank and sent the hovertank careening sideways into a large tree stump, its right side caved in by the blast.

The situation was rapidly becoming untenable, with his slower units easy prey for the fast, agile _Scimitars_. To make matters worse, his only fast units carried heavy, ranged weapons that were ill-suited for close-range skirmishing, with minimum effective ranges and slow reload times. His _Regulators_ were designed to be highly mobile fire support vehicles, as were the LRM equipped _Maxim_ troop transports.

Bracing himself against the hovertank's violent jolting and swerving, as the driver headed for their fall-back position at max throttle, Kristiansen selected the Divisional command frequency on his radio.

"Theta Six to Command, we are being engaged by a unit of Scimitar hovertanks!" He paused as it dawned on him how foolish his words would sound, before biting his lip and continuing.

"They just came straight at us and attacked us with infernos – they're setting the whole damn wood alight. Some of my crews were forced to abandon their vehicles and the Scimitars just ran them over. We're pulling back to Nav Point Bravo and…"

His final sentence was cut off as the _Regulator_ shook violently, rose up at the rear and skidded along an open stretch of ground.

"We're hit!" shouted the driver hoarsely, sounding as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him, "Left rear fan's gone…adjusting front right to compensate".

Kristiansen could feel the _Regulator_ slowing as the reduced lift increased the ground resistance. "How far to Bravo?" he shouted to the sensor operator.

"Just over a klick, sir, I don't think…"

His words were drowned out by another shout from the driver, "Oh shit! Everybody brace, we're…"

He was cut short as the damaged hovertank dipped at the nose, ploughing into the ground at around 70mph. The impact flipped the _Regulator_ end over end, its momentum causing it to somersault repeatedly, crashing through trees and bushes, while its skirt and fan assemblies disintegrated.

Effective resistance to the small unit of enemy hovertanks quickly dissipated, as those Coalition units that were capable of keeping up with the _Scimitars_ were either dispatched or crippled, while the slower, heavier vehicles were quickly left behind.

The four surviving _Scimitars_ sped onward to their next target, past the defilades of III-Theta's fall-back position and on towards the 201st Division's forward mobile field base. The Blakist hovertanks careened past with little opposition. The Coalition's patrol units couldn't move nearly as quickly in woodland and never stood a chance of catching the speeding infiltrators.

The woodland gave way to a series of hills and valleys. The _Scimitars_ unerringly steered for the location where Precentor Margo Koivu had ordered the 201st Division's command post to be set up. Alerted by the warnings from Demi-Precentor Kristiansen, Koivu and the Winged Warriors command unit were ready and waiting. Unfortunately, they quickly found they faced even worse problems than the tanks of III-Theta. The small, fast-moving targets were difficult to target in the dimly-lit encampment, even using thermal imaging. One _Scimitar_ was destroyed by the first concentrated volley of fire, but the other three made evasive manoeuvres and split up.

One headed for the cluster of tents, transports and mobile command units, its driver ignoring the hail of small-arms fire directed at it by the base's guard force. The brilliant azure beams of man-portable PPCs and paler discharges of mag-shot gauss rifles speared through the darkness, some finding their target, but most not. The gunner fired another pair of SRMs, the flare of their propulsion rockets adding their eerie glow and wildly dancing shadows to the chaos inside the camp. One impacted on a command vehicle, the force of the impact caving in the driver's cab and the Inferno warhead setting the vehicle ablaze. The other hit a fuel dump, with predictable results. The ensuing explosion and fireball engulfed everything within a hundred metre radius, including several vehicles and tents.

Precentor Koivu let out a snarl of rage as she looked on helplessly at the one-sided battle raging through the camp. Battlemechs were next to useless in this kind of close-quarters fighting. Although their sensors identified and tracked the attackers, she and her fellow pilots hardly dared open fire in case they hit their own troops. Out of the six mechs in her command Level II, only the _Chameleon_ and _Grim Reaper_ were fast and agile enough to have a hope of catching the attackers. While the medium mechs went hunting, she ordered the remaining heavy and assault mechs to cover any potential exits. Now that the enemy had broken through their defences, she had no intention of letting them escape.

That was easier said than done though, as the other two _Scimitars_ made high speed runs at Koivu's _Grand Titan_ and the _Cerberus_ of Demi-Precentor Elina Koskinen, the divisional Executive Officer. Alarms sounded and lights flashed on her command console, providing unnecessary additional warnings. In spite of her fear at being on the receiving end of another Inferno attack, she held her ground, determined to beat the enemy gunner to the trigger. The _Grand Titan's_ large pulse lasers spat forth a stream of ruby darts that ploughed a string of craters in the dirt, before finding their target. The pulse lasers sloughed armour from the front and flanks of the small, fast-moving hovertank, but didn't slow it or divert it from its course.

Koivu cringed inwardly and braced herself, expecting her mech to be engulfed in flame at any moment. She was surprised, therefore, when the small vehicle flashed past her, having apparently not opened fire. In the noise and chaos of the firefight, the _thunk_ of the TAG laser emitter unit attaching itself to the _Titan's_ left torso, went unnoticed. Laboriously turning her mech around and torso-twisting, in order to bring her weapons to bear more quickly, she noticed the second _Scimitar_ completing its run past Koskinen's _Cerberus_, numerous scars on its armour where it had been raked by Elina's medium lasers. The two light vehicles then had to weather fire from Adept Ari Haan's _Black Knight_ and Adept Tarja Hansen's _Warhammer_. The _Knight's _torso-mounted large lasers missed the nearer hovertank, but the _'Hammer's_ arm-mounted PPCs tore through the other _Scimitar's_ armour like tissue paper and ignited its remaining ammo, causing it to explode spectacularly.

On the other side of the shallow depression, where they had made their forward encampment, the _Chameleon_ and _Grim Reaper_, piloted by Acolytes James Shackleton and Zoey Hart, successfully hunted down the hovertank that had wrought havoc among the accommodation and support vehicles. The sole surviving _Scimitar_ slipped away unnoticed into the night.

Aside from the com chatter from the ground units and the odd explosion, as the fires spread to as yet untouched supplies of fuel or ammo, all was quiet again.

"Would someone like to tell me what the hell that was all about?" came Ari Haan's voice over the command channel.

"What I'd like to know is how they knew our exact location", observed Koskinen sourly. "III Theta and Epsilon just uploaded their sensor logs and it shows those hovertanks headed straight for us. They weren't looking for us…they already knew we were here".

Koivu's blood turned to ice water, "If that's true, that means there's a traitor in our ranks", she said, her voice unnaturally subdued as she pondered the possibility. "I pray to Blake that you are wrong".

Just then the night exploded, the darkness lit with orange-white flame. The ground trembled as though from an earthquake and the _Grand Titan_, _Cerberus_ and _Black Knight_ exploded in columns of flame and dirt as the first salvoes of the Blakist artillery strike locked on to the TAG lasers attached to the mechs. Both the _Chameleon_ and _Grim Reaper_ were thrown to the ground by near-misses, as more, unguided rounds began landing in and around the field base.

Tarja Hansen sat, frozen with horror, strapped tightly into her _Warhammer's_ cockpit, as she took in the carnage around her. Her lack of movement proved a saving grace as her mech was bracketed by a pair of artillery rounds, either of which would have torn the 70-ton machine apart, had she tried to move. As it was, the shockwaves generated by the blasts, buffeted the mech, hurling rocks, dirt and other debris. The impacts jolted her into action and she activated her radio, selecting the divisional command frequency.

"Any receiving unit, this is Adept Tarja Hansen. Forward Command has just been attacked by enemy armour units and an artillery strike. II Omega has taken heavy damage. Precentor Koivu and Demi-Precentor Koskinen are…dead".


	34. The Warrior Regent

**Citadel Barracks,**  
**Westminster,**  
**Britannia,**

There was a brief but, nevertheless irritating, delay as they pulled up to the main gate, since even the Regent and his Chief of Staff were required to have their IDs visually confirmed.

After being waved through, Richards wasted no time, driving straight past the office and accommodation blocks, in the direction of the parade ground and practice range, to the left of which were the mech hangars.

As they got closer to their destination, she found herself having to slow and weave in between trucks, loaders, haulers and pedestrians, most of which seemed to be heading for the hangars. Executing a smart stop outside a massive set of open sliding doors, whose markings proclaimed this building to be Hangar One, Richards and the rest of the guards exited the hummer and took up positions around the vehicle, while they waited for their charges to emerge.

Entering the hangar, it was a mark of just how intent everyone was on their tasks, that the Regent and Precentor Commander were able to stroll across the cluttered and crowded hangar floor unrecognised.

Jackson, the taller of the two men, pointed towards the rear of the cavern-like building.

"OVER THERE", he said, having to shout to make himself heard.

"WHAT?" queried Sandringham.

"Not what…who", replied Jackson. "Katelyn Marshall, CO of the House Guard".

"Okay. I take it you're going to introduce us?"

A sudden movement caught Jackson's eye. "Looks like someone may have beaten us to it".

As he watched, a tech hurried over to Precentor Marshall, who was deep in conversation with a number of other officers. He saw a mild frown crease her striking features, at the interruption, then as she glanced over in his direction, her eyes widened. Turning back, she presumably informed the others of the new arrivals, judging from the way the meeting rapidly broke up. A small space cleared around them, as techs and other support personnel were hurriedly ordered to find something else to do. The officers of the Royal Guard formed up in something approaching parade formation and stood at attention as they waited for their superiors to reach them.

At a barked command from Marshall, the group saluted in perfect unison, the gesture solemnly returned by the Precentor Commander and Regent, as they entered the improvised meeting space.

"Sir, to what do we owe this honour? Had we had some prior notice of your visit, I would have arranged a more appropriate welcome", said the Guard's commander, allowing surprise into her previously impassive expression.

"At ease, Precentor Marshall, this isn't a formal visit", said Jackson, with a friendly smile, hoping to ease the obvious tension their arrival had generated.

"Apologies for just dropping in like this", began Sandringham, nodding in agreement, "But it was the only way I could get here without starting another war in the command bunker".

"Sir?" asked Marshall as she turned to lead them to a small office at the rear of the hangar.

"I used to be an officer in the Com Guards. Served twenty years", replied Sandringham. "My place is in the field…not hiding underground like a rat in a sewer. Some members of the Cabinet, however, were strongly opposed my re-entering active service. I think, if push came to shove, they would have had the Chief Medical Officer declare me unfit for duty", he said, shaking his head in disgust.

"They would have had a hard time, sir, given you have my support and by definition, that of the BCAF officer corps", said Jackson, turning round to glance at him, before entering the office. "I'd have made sure you got a second opinion".

"For which I will always be grateful, Rob", said William, smiling. "However, the last thing the Coalition needs right now is a divided government, when our very survival is at stake!"

"No fighting in the War Room, eh sir?"

"Precisely. This way any arguments have to wait until they're irrelevant and I get to do something useful again, instead of being cooped up in that damn bunker. Once they get over the fact I'm back in the field, they'll get back to what they're best at".

"Which is…?" asked Rob, somewhat pointedly.

"Taking care of the people, maintaining order and making sure the planet doesn't descend into complete anarchy. Come on, Rob…you've not become that cynical, surely?"

The Chief of Staff smiled ruefully, "Wouldn't dream of it, sir".

"I take it you will be assuming command, sir?" asked Marshall guardedly.

"Only on a strategic level. I want to co-ordinate our defence with Precentor Koivu of the 201st Division. I'll offer any advice I can, but this is her show to run and the Guard is still your unit".

"Sir?" queried Jackson.

"I'm a capable mechwarrior and commander, Rob, but I've not led troops in anything other than simulations and exercises, since the fall of Terra. Margo's a hell of a commander and I have complete faith in her. Likewise Precentor Marshall".

"As you wish, sir", said Jackson, nodding. "You know, despite everything, I actually envy you. You've no idea how much I'd love to be able to ride out with you".

Sandringham laid a hand on his shoulder, "Rest easy old friend. I do know…and you've fought more than your share of battles. You've earned the right to sit this one out".

"Just make sure you come back in one piece, or I'll kick your arse, even with my gammy leg and bad back".

The Regent laughed, "Well, that's me warned. I'm not sure what's scarier, facing the Word of Blake or a pissed off Chief of Staff".

"Are your troops ready to go?" asked Sandringham, turning to Marshall.

"Ready and awaiting your orders, sir".

"Very well, lets get saddled up and moving out. Have your head of operations contact the 201st. Find out what their status is and how we can help. I want to know where we're needed and what we're up against as soon as possible".

* * *

**Outskirts of Westminster,**  
**Britannia,**  
**Britannic Coalition**

Regent William Sandringham (now acting in his capacity as Marshal of the BCAF) fidgeted with the 5-point harness holding him securely in the pilot's seat of his customised _Dire Wolf_, trying and failing miserably to get comfortable. The huge 100-ton Clan assault mech was a rare sight in the Inner Sphere, even among House armies. Sandringham would've laid a hefty wager it was unique among the forces of the Periphery states. This particular one, which he'd nicknamed _Achates_, had a history, stretching back to the Clan invasion.

He had first encountered it 18 years ago on Tukayyid. It had originally belonged to the commander of the Smoke Jaguar force assigned to take Port Racice. He'd been an Adept with the Com Guard 401st Division at the time and although an experienced and capable mech pilot, he'd never seen combat on anything approaching that scale. After witnessing the huge machine destroy his commanding officer's _Orion ON1-M_, he'd challenged and taken on the Clanner in his _Marauder MAD-5M_, using his greater manoeuvrability to avoid the worst of the giant machine's awesome firepower. He'd eventually forced his opponent's machine to shut down, after scoring repeated engine hits and destroying a number of its heat sinks, playing a small part in the success of the Com Guards routing of the Jaguars' Beta Galaxy.

As he continued to fiddle with the seat adjustments, his headset crackled and a voice sounded in his ear, heavy with concern. It was Precentor Marshall.

"Sir, I've made contact with the 201st …and it doesn't look good".

Sandringham's gut knotted uncomfortably as he listened, "As if we needed any more problems", he said to himself.

"I've only been able to raise Demi-Precentor Toksvig of III-Alpha so far. She said their field base and forward command post came under attack by armour units and artillery less than an hour ago. Since then, she's not heard from Precentor Koivu".

Sandringham bit back a curse. "Do you have any good news for me?"

"Not much sir. Things are pretty chaotic out there. Toksvig reports the Blakists are using ECM which is disrupting communications with Beta and Gamma. They're attacking in force and pushing the 201st back towards Westminster. Looks like this is their main push on the capital. They seem intent on ending this conflict quickly".

"Where are they and how soon can we rendezvous with them?"

"Last recorded position is just under twenty klicks south of our current location, but they're being pushed back towards us, so I'd put our ETA at around…" Marshall paused to do some quick mental arithmetic, "…fifteen minutes, give or take…"

"In that case, I suggest we get a move on".

"Aye, sir".

"Any word on our mercenary friends?"

"They've had no radio contact yet, but Toksvig did say long range radar has picked up a number of unidentified contacts, moving in from the east, behind the enemy line of advance. That would be consistent with the battle plan, which called for them to conduct harassing strikes along the enemy's flank. A number of Blakist units detached from the main force on an intercept course".

"I'm sure Colonel Nuyriev and his troops will have plenty of nasty surprises in store".

"I certainly hope so sir, given what I've heard we're paying them".

"Trust me Kate, if what I've seen of them in training is anything to go by, those Blakist bastards are in for a world of pain. Now, lets get in there and do our bit".


	35. Coyote Counterattack

**10km east of Lakenheath, **  
**Britannia,**  
**Britannic Coalition**

"Alpha Elemental to Command, we have sighted the enemy, moving on a heading of One Eight Seven, passing Nav Theta at less than two kilometres. Enemy force estimated at Galaxy strength. What are your orders?"

Star Colonel Alexei Nuyriev nodded grimly as he received the news. "Acknowledged, Star Commander Ellis. Your orders are to continue to observe and report for now".

Nuyriev switched frequencies to the command channel. "The enemy are pushing through on the capital. Binaries Alpha through Gamma, begin your advance to Nav Points Kappa, Mu and Omicron. Unit commanders, you are free to engage at your discretion".

The Cavaliers were arrayed in and around the wooded hills that bordered the western approach to the capital. The report, relayed from Star Commander Ellis, whose Elemental units were shadowing the Word of Blake's advance, was the signal to begin moving on the enemy's rear, with the aim of disrupting their advance and generally causing as much chaos as possible, giving the Coalition forces time to regroup.

Across three separate locations, thirty Coyote mechs powered up and began moving out of the hills, timing their approach to hit the rear of the Blakist formation.

**Nav Point Theta,**  
**5km Southwest of Westminster**

Warrior Eyan of Point Beta, Alpha Elemental watched impatiently as the Blakist formations slowly passed his position, just under a kilometre distant. He squirmed slightly inside the bulky Elemental battle armour, to relieve some of the nervous energy. They appeared to be maintaining an orderly advance and the sight of so many enemy made him long to join battle. Hiding in the treeline with only orders to observe and report was not his idea of honourable combat.

Suddenly, his suit's sensors picked up a number of contacts breaking off from the main formation, heading in Point Beta's general direction.

He activated his suit's radio, "Star Commander Ellis, I have detected a large number of contacts leaving the main enemy formation. They are small and slow moving and appear to be armoured infantry, but I am unable to classify them at this time".

Ellis responded instantly, "Are they heading towards us?" The tension in his voice indicated he was not enjoying the wait any more than the troops under his command.

"Aff. At their current rate of advance, they will reach us in…"

In Ellis' earpiece, the transmission ended abruptly in a burst of static.

Acolyte Revell Wyatt grinned behind the visor of his _Purifier_ battle armour. His initial puzzlement and concern at finding Clan battle armour, gave way to relaxed confidence as he realised they could be dispatched as easily as any un-armoured infantryman. He and one other from his Level II had crept to within 90 metres of the lookout's position, undetected, across open ground, before unleashing a combination of laser and PPC fire at the hapless Clanner. From nearly 200 metres away, a lone infantryman, equipped with _Longinus_ battle armour, paused his advance long enough to finish the job, with a head-shot from his suit's David Light Gauss rifle.

The sudden bursts of laser and PPC fire alerted the rest of the Elementals and Star Commander Ellis heard the general radio frequency come alive with shouts and curses, as his troops attempted to locate their mysterious attackers.

'_Stravag!'_ He cursed silently, _'What are these freebirth scum up to?'_

Waiting a hundred metres inside the tree line, with Point Delta of Alpha Elemental, his suit's sensors were picking up the enemy contacts as they approached the lookout points. They showed up on his visor's HUD as red dots, while his Elementals registered as blue dots. The enemy were advancing slowly and steadily, yet his own troops seemed to be either unaware of them, or else moving about erratically.

"Point Commanders, check in!" he snapped over Alpha Elemental's command channel.

He waited a few moments, but the chaos on the radio net continued. Besides the screams and weapons fire, he thought he heard the faint sound of explosions. It sounded like some of them were using their SRMs.

Ellis felt a surge of anger, both from the lack of response from his own troops and the apparent ease with which the enemy were creating havoc among them.

This time he shouted into his radio headset, to make sure he got everyone's attention. "Alpha Elemental, fall back to Nav Point Epsilon immediately! If you do not comply, I will see each and every one of you _surats_ in a Circle of Equals!"

Switching to the Binary command channel, he radioed his counterpart in Beta Elemental. "Star Commander Briony, enemy units are over-running our position and we are pulling back to Nav Epsilon. Have Beta Elemental cover our withdrawal".

Briony was the first to acknowledge, her voice calm and assured. "Ellis, this is Briony. Beta Elemental is moving to cover Nav Epsilon".

Back on his Star's command channel, confused and fragmented reports were coming back.

"This is Point Commander Gethin. We had some contacts in visual range. We were preparing to engage them when, out of nowhere, weapons fire came from our right flank and killed two warriors, before we could fire back".

"Star Commander, Point Commander Sten here. Some of the enemy units appear to be using a camouflage system that renders them invisible. We can still track them on infrared and using magnetic anomaly sensors, but they are _stravaging_ hard to shoot at…"

"This is Point Commander Armin. We are being pinned down by long range fire. It seems some of their units are equipped with sniper rifles. We are unable to return fire with any effect and have already lost one warrior while attempting to withdraw!"

"Freebirth!" Ellis cursed.

He switched channels to the Cluster command frequency. "Command Nova, this is Alpha Elemental. We are engaging armoured infantry, estimate two Stars, at Nav Theta. They appear to have some kind of masking capability and superior ranged firepower. We are sustaining heavy casualties and require assistance".

There was a brief pause before the Cavaliers' XO, Star Captain Risa Clearwater responded.

"Neg, Star Commander. We are about to engage the rear echelons of the enemy's mech and armour formations. We are depending on you and Star Commander Briony to keep their infantry away from us".

"Then your dependence may go unfulfilled", growled Ellis, as the sounds of battle closed in around Delta's position.

Clearwater sighed, a very un-Clanlike characteristic. "Very well, I will contact Star Captain McTighe and have his fighters provide you with air support".

"Tell him to hurry. We need time and space to break contact and organise a counter-attack".

* * *

Adept Linus, commander of II-Epsilon, slowed his _Falcon Hawk_ to complete one final sensor sweep. After that, his unit, which was acting as III-Gamma's rearguard, would catch up to their parent unit and join the advance on Westminster. A sudden cry over the unit's radio link made him bring his mech to a dead stop.

"Epsilon Two to Six, I'm picking up a large number of thermal blooms that look like reactor start-up signatures, west of our position, just under a kilometre. They just came out of nowhere!"

Linus frowned. _'Cold starts'_, he thought. _'Ambush'_ was the next word that formed in his mind. Calmly and unhurriedly, he began to consider his next moves.

It was a favoured tactic of bandits and guerrilla forces to gain the element of surprise. Completely powered down mechs gave off no telltale thermal or EM emissions. Lookouts would be posted to watch for an inbound enemy force. When they were in range, the lookouts would signal the mech force, who would then power up their mechs and spring the trap.

To work, however, the ambushing force needed time to complete the start-up sequences for their machines, therefore they usually waited in a screened area, such as woodland or a canyon, or else waited until the enemy force had passed them.

Throttling his machine up, he moved steadily towards the treeline of the woods to their west and sure enough, five unidentified contacts appeared at the edge of his radar display. They were moving rapidly, soon followed by another five. Whoever they were, they must have been alerted to the Word of Blake unit's presence several minutes ago.

He checked his radio was on the unit's general frequency. "Two Epsilon, we have hostiles in the woods. Prepare to engage on my command".

He checked his radar display and saw the blue icons denoting the rest of II-Epsilon form a staggered line on either side of him.

Linus then switched his radio to III-Gamma's command channel. "Two Epsilon to Command, we have enemy forces to our rear, emerging from the woods to our west. Preparing to engage, but they significantly outnumber us".

Just then, another five hostile contacts appeared on his display, followed by five more.

"Command, I have just detected another ten hostiles. Repeat, we have at least twenty enemy units to the west, maybe more. Request immediate reinforcements!"

There was a pause before Demi-Precentor Sigma Barbas, commander of III-Gamma responded. "Two Epsilon, this is Three Gamma Command. It appears this is a threat we cannot ignore. I will notify Division Command and inform them we may be delayed slightly".

* * *

Just inside the treeline, Star Commander Jordi was getting similar reports to Adept Linus, from the other members of Gamma Striker. He shifted around in the command couch of his _Hellion B_ as his mind processed the information and tried to formulate a plan.

His radio earpiece beeped, informing him of an incoming call on the command channel. "Jordi, this is Tamzarian. Gamma Heavy and Binary Beta are moving to engage. What is your status?"

Jordi took another quick glance at his sensor readouts. In addition to the half dozen contacts which were moving on his position, a number of other enemy contacts were now appearing at the edge of his radar display. It was clear from their actions that the enemy knew they were here and that there was no further use in hiding. It was time to do battle.

"Striker is about to engage. Be advised there are a large number of additional enemy units moving into sensor range. I have more than a Trinary at 800 metres and closing, from Zero Zero Five".

"Acknowledged. Good hunting Striker".

Jordi switched frequencies to his Star's command channel. "Gamma Striker – engage!"

That was all he needed to say. In keeping with their cover as mercenaries, the traditional Clan rituals of batchall and zellbrigen had to be dispensed with. Fortunately, they were, by now, well-versed in fighting Spheroid style.

His hand had just moved to the throttle, ready to make his _Hellion_ spring from hiding, when the tree to his right exploded in a shower of bark and leaves, as though it had been hit by lightning.

'_Stravag!'_ he thought, as the upper trunk slowly collapsed, revealing the charred area where the particle cannon had struck.

Of its own accord, his left hand pushed the throttle to the stops and he braced himself as the _Hellion_ accelerated rapidly, out into the open. He just had time to make out the enemy mechs, partially silhouetted as solid black shapes against the starlight sky, when his machine was rocked by a solid PPC hit to the left torso, which vapourised a good deal of armour plating. He would have been dazzled by the brilliant azure beam, but his helmet visor darkened rapidly to compensate.

"Freebirth!" he cursed, letting fly with a snapshot from his Heavy Large Laser.

The heavy laser was a recent Clan innovation, several examples of which had been discreetly passed onto the Cavaliers, during their last rendezvous with Omicron Galaxy. He cursed again as the shot missed and he felt the cockpit temperature rise several degrees.

Around him, the night lit up with ruby, emerald and azure flashes, as the rest of the enemy formation opened fire. Gamma Striker responded in kind, their barrage adding to the growing chaos.


	36. The Scorpion's Sting

Star Commander Ellis reflexively turned away, as a broad swathe of woodland, not fifty metres away, disappeared in conflagration of smoke and fire, set ablaze by a lethal barrage of short range missiles. Seconds later a pair of fighters screamed overhead. From a brief glimpse of their silhouettes, outlined against the blaze, he recognised the _Jengiz Primes_ of Alpha Flight.

'_Stravag! Any closer and we'd have been incinerated!'_ he thought.

However, he didn't blame the pilots. They had been instructed to unleash their payloads right on the position he and his troops had just vacated. The enemy armoured infantry had pursued them relentlessly and were still hot on their heels.

Had he not been genetically bred and ruthlessly trained for war, he might have cringed as he saw the Elementals of Point Epsilon, who were acting as the rearguard, flung to the ground like rag dolls by the blast. As it was, he found himself holding his breath and hoping they were not badly injured.

As the rest of Alpha Elemental set up a defensive perimeter, he saw the five downed warriors struggle to their feet and resume their steady retreat, moving quickly and gracefully, despite being encased in armoured suits, weighing the best part of a ton.

He glanced round the position he'd chosen to defend. The north-facing slope of a large, heavily wooded hill, which offered plenty of concealment for his troops, who could look out onto the recently-cleared swathe of ground at the oncoming enemy. Further up the slope were a few small clearings, which he'd already earmarked as ideal locations for ambushes.

He was trying to think if there was anything he'd overlooked, when a call came over the radio.

"Delta to Alpha Command, I have enemy infantry moving on our location. Estimate a Star in strength".

"Acknowledged, Delta". "Stravag!" he cursed. The fighters' strafing runs had apparently had little effect, leaving him to face over twenty heavily armed troops with 3 Points of Elementals.

The enemy battle armour had decimated Beta and Gamma Points with a combination of light gauss rifles and hellishly effective man-portable PPCs, while his own warriors were equipped with standard lasers and machine guns.

The strafing runs had had the unwanted side-effect of forcing Star Commander Briony and Beta Elemental to fall back, meaning it would be several minutes before they were in position to assist.

Ellis took another glance at his surroundings and tried to force to the back of his mind, the thought that they might be the last things he ever saw. "Alpha Command to all units…prepare to engage on my signal!"

Star Commander Jordi engaged his _Hellion's_ MASC system, accelerating his mech up to nearly 90mph and allowing him to make a two hundred metre flanking run in just a few seconds.

The battle had rapidly descended into a chaotic meleé and with so many small, fast-moving targets, it was proving nearly impossible to land any properly aimed shots. Worse, their enemy did not seem to be having the same problem. All the mechs of Gamma Striker had suffered varying degrees of damage, while failing to inflict much in return.

His flanking run took him to within fifty metres of a Word of Blake _Spider_. The lightly armed machine was more of a nuisance than anything, but a kill was a kill. Its pilot reacted immediately to his sudden appearance and accelerated to maximum speed, jinking around other combatants in an effort to throw his aim. Jordi however, had been prepared for this and was already floating his HUD's targeting reticule over the back of it's small head. His heavy large laser already tied to the main trigger, he gave himself a couple of seconds to line up the perfect shot before firing.

The broad emerald beam reached across the darkness and struck the _Spider_ directly on the back of the cockpit – the most lightly armoured part of the mech – where it vapourised the minimal armour protection and sliced into the cockpit, instantly killing the pilot. There were a series of small explosions, showers of sparks and flames, as various electrical systems were destroyed. With no-one to control it, the speeding mech toppled, like a puppet with its strings cut and crashed to the ground, ploughing a deep furrow in the soft, grassy terrain.

Jordi gave a coyote howl over the radio, which had become the unit's customary victory cry. He hoped the others would take heart from it.

Searching for another target, the dazzling flare of jumpjets caught his eye and he saw an enemy _Eagle_ soar into the air, taking direct hits to its rear torso from two particle cannon.

'_The Pack Hunters are living up to their name!'_ he thought.

The Blakist mech wavered at the apex of its jump and came down unsteadily, falling forward, before the pilot braced his machine by digging one arm into the dirt. As he did so, Gamma Striker's _Fire Falcon_ loomed out of the darkness and fired both large lasers directly at its cockpit…another instant kill.

More triumphant howls sounded over the radio net, before being suddenly replaced with cries and curses.

Heart in mouth, Jordi wrenched his controls, executing a swift hundred and eighty degree turn. He was just in time to see Striker Four fall to the ground, its right arm and shoulder-mounted ERPPC destroyed. The enemy _Falcon Hawk_ and _Jackal_ then fired at the cockpit, before its pilot could escape, the combined ERPPCs immolating the _Pack Hunter's_ head.

Striker Five, the second _Pack Hunter_, fired as rapidly as its weapon's lengthy recharge time allowed. The Blakist mechs closed in, peppering it with medium pulse lasers and short range missiles, doing enough damage to force the Cavalier mech to pull back.

Suddenly, just as Jordi's sensors informed him of new enemy units closing in, Striker Five staggered backward, as it's right arm was ripped off and a large hole torn in its centre torso.

'_Kerensky's blood! Gauss rifles!'_ Immensely powerful weapons like that could cripple or destroy light mechs with just one or two shots.

He was relieved to see the pilot eject, before the mech, its gyro evidently destroyed, toppled backwards to the ground.

Checking his tactical display, he saw two new enemy mechs that his computer classified as _Huron Warriors_, as well as an _Apollo_, a _Wyvern_ and an _Initiate_.

The Cavaliers had also learned the Inner Sphere idiom that discretion was sometimes the better part of valour. Jordi opened a channel to his surviving pilots, "Gamma Striker, fall back to the woods!"

Gamma Heavy could bear the brunt of this next battle. He and the other Striker units would stay on the fringes of the fight and help out where possible.

They had just reached the relative safety of the woods, when Jordi was once more dazzled by the flare of jumpjets, as Gamma Heavy's _Black Python_ came soaring over the treeline, ten metres to his right, its large pulse lasers spitting forth ruby darts. That particular mech, he knew, was equipped with a targeting computer, which automatically compensated for movement, vibration, wind, target movement etc. much more quickly and accurately than standard targeting systems.

He turned his mech around to see what the target was and saw a Blakist _Hermes_ stagger and fall to the ground, as the _Python_ added its medium pulse lasers to the barrage.

It regained its footing and responded weakly with its own trio of pulse weapons, but was knocked to the ground again by another volley from the _Python's_ main weapons. This time, it remained where it fell.

He opened a radio link, "My thanks, Ariane. I was so intent on breaking contact, I did not see that _surat_ coming up behind me".

"That is unlike you Jordi, were you asleep in your cockpit?"

Jordi rolled his eyes at the friendly barb. He could hardly deny he'd been caught unawares.

"Aff. Thank you for waking me with your dramatic entrance".

"You are welcome".

A second _Hermes_, which like the first, had been attempting to sneak up on them from behind, tried to flee. It accelerated to an incredible speed, but suddenly staggered and fell prone, sliding along the ground, coming to a halt less than three hundred metres away. Jordi guessed it's MASC system had overloaded and damaged the leg actuator couplings. He made a mental note to be less reliant on his _Hellion's_ own myomer acceleration system.

Just then Ariane's mech was rocked by a volley of long range missiles. She had the presence of mind to activate her jumpjets, to avoid a second, larger salvo, which roared past him and destroyed a stand of trees.

The second unit of Word of Blake mechs was closing fast and clearly had them in their sights. Jordi was just about to radio Binary Gamma's commander, when a trio of heavy mechs burst through the trees and opened fire. Immediately recognisable from the rotating sensor arrays over their cockpits, each _Rifleman IIC_ let loose with its quartet of large pulse lasers, flaying armour from the retreating Blakist _Falcon Hawk_ and _Jackal_.

The _Initiate_, _Wyvern_ and _Apollo_ answered with more salvoes of long range missiles, while the _Huron Warriors_ sent another pair of gauss slugs streaking through the darkness, each slamming into a _Rifleman_.

Keen to avoid this long range pummelling, the _Riflemen_ and _Black Python_ advanced towards the enemy at maximum speed. Finally, Binary Gamma's commander, Star Captain Novak Tamzarian emerged from the woods in his distinctive _Glass Spider_. The rotund, ungainly-looking machine had a disc-shaped sensor array above the cockpit and a pair of large, reversible arms, each housing a gauss rifle. He wasted no time in finding an opponent, singling out the lead _Huron Warrior_ and placing two well aimed shots, which shattered the lighter mech's right hip joint, sending it crashing to the ground.

Just then, Jordi's _Hellion_ was rocked violently and the rear torso segment of his armour display flashed red.

"Stravag! What in Kerensky's name…?"

Glancing at his radar display, he could see no enemy to his rear. He cycled through infrared and magnetic resonance imaging but still got nothing. His mech shuddered again from more hits and he quickly turned to try and get a visual on his mysterious assailant.

Another ruby lance flashed out of the darkness and struck the _Hellion_ on the left torso. Another segment on his armour display turned red.

He throttled the _Hellion_ into a run and headed towards his unseen tormentor, jinking randomly. Suddenly, he was able to make out a ghostly outline in the darkness. The shape and size flashed up the name _Phoenix Hawk_ in his mind. He glanced at his sensor displays again…still nothing.

'_What the hell…?'_ he wondered. Then it hit him, _'Stealth armour!'_

He, like the rest of the Cavaliers, had heard about it, from conversations with Inner Sphere mechwarriors and technicians, but he had never before faced a mech equipped with it.

He loosed off a snapshot with his heavy large laser, which grazed the _P-Hawk's_ right torso, before its pilot lit the jumpjets, sending it arcing over him. The pilot somehow executed a half-turn in mid-flight and unleashed another shot from its large laser, hitting him in the centre-rear torso before landing.

The _Hellion_ shuddered and warning alarms sounded in the cockpit.

"Warning! Reactor damage, emergency shutdown in progress", came the audio warning from the master computer.

Jordi unleashed yet another stream of curses and began unplugging his coolant vest and neurohelmet. Before he could hit the central release button on the 5-point harness that strapped him into the command couch, the _Hellion_ was hit by more shots to its rear torso. Now static, the force of the impacts rocked it forward. Slowly, it toppled and hit the ground, cockpit first, the shock creating a maze of spiderweb cracks in the ferroglass canopy. Seconds later, a stray missile impacted close by, the shockwave from the detonation shattering the fractured glass.

Jordi gritted his teeth and tried not to black out as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. He hung from the command couch, bruised, bleeding and struggling to breathe, as the harness dug into his shoulders, chest and waist. Gripping the seat with one hand, he gingerly pressed the release button and carefully lifted his legs up and placed them on the control console. With difficulty, he clambered into the space behind the pilot's seat and retrieved his jumpsuit, personal sidearm and survival kit.

Rather than try and dress himself and stow his gear in the cramped confines of the cockpit, Jordi simply unfastened the hatch in the floor and tossed the items onto the ground. The mech having fallen face-first, the ground was now about six feet away. Gripping the edge of the hatchway, he lowered himself until his arms were fully extended, before letting go and dropping the rest of the way. He immediately regretted doing this, as a sharp pain flared in his chest and he fell to the ground, gasping for breath…it seemed his injuries were more severe than he'd realised.

When the pain subsided, he slowly got to his feet, now shivering in the cold night air, after the heat of the cockpit. He removed his cooling vest, wincing and gasping as every move seemed to spark fresh pain. He dragged on the jumpsuit, strapped on his laser pistol and combat knife and shouldered the pack containing his survival gear. He crouched and peered cautiously around one of the _Hellion's_ huge articulated feet. Less than fifty metres away, Tamzarian's unit and the two remaining Striker mechs were taking the fight to the enemy. His attacker was nowhere to be seen.

Activating his night-vision binoculars, Jordi scanned the surrounding area to get an idea of the situation.

The battle now centred on an abandoned farm, located just off the main highway leading to Westminster. The heavy mechs of Binary Gamma were inflicting extensive damage on the enemy's medium and light mechs. Just when it looked as though the Cavaliers were gaining the upper hand, a flurry of projectiles, missiles and directed energy beams flew out of the darkness, crashing into Star Captain Tamzarian's _Glass Spider_, the trio of _Riflemen_ and Ariane's _Black Python_, the latter looking particularly worse for wear by this time.

Evidently, the Blakists were bringing more reinforcements to the fight. He hoped the rest of the Cavaliers would arrive in time.

As he watched, he saw the _Falcon Hawk_ and _Jackal_ he had been battling earlier, gang up on the _Python_, as Ariane attempted to jump out of trouble once again. They both fired on the Cavalier mech in mid-flight, destroying one jumpjet, causing it to land unsteadily.

Outstanding pilot that she was, she managed to control her landing and performed an about face with surprising deftness, unleashing a barrage of fire on her tormentors. Jordi watched incredulously. Although the _Black Python_ was equipped with thirteen double-strength heat sinks, its suite of pulse lasers generated a large amount of heat, which they would struggle to cope with after several volleys. Sure enough, the _Python's_ rate of fire slackened every few shots, but not enough to prevent the mech overheating.

'_That cockpit must be like an oven'_, he thought.

The Blakist mechs halted their advance, as if surprised by their intended prey turning on them so viciously. The _Jackal's_ left arm parted company with the torso in a shower of sparks, as Ariane began targeting specific parts of the mech, assisted by the _Python's_ targeting computer. Next, more sparks and flame burst from the left hip joint and finally, the knee joint blew out, causing the mech to fall prone, where it remained.

Ariane shifted her fire to the _Falcon Hawk_, but after just a few shots, her weapons fell silent and the mech assumed its hunched-over shutdown position.

'_Kerensky's Blood!'_ thought Jordi, _'She must have used up all her coolant'_.

As she waited helplessly, for her mech to cool down, on the verge of passing out from the heat, the _Falcon Hawk_ pilot pressed home the attack. There was a small explosion as one of the _Python's_ leg actuators ruptured. Another volley and the seventy-five ton mech sagged to the right, before slowly toppling onto its side. Instead of leaving their downed foe, the Blakist continued to fire, seemingly wanting to destroy their opponent completely.

Rage welled up inside Jordi at this disgusting, cowardly behaviour. Forgetting his own injuries, he bolted from cover and began sprinting across the open ground, ignoring the stabbing pains in his chest and limbs. Fortunately, the night rendered him all but invisible to the pilots of the huge machines around him and despite worsening his injuries by falling into craters and potholes, as he ran, he reached the _Black Python's_ head. Using whatever hand and footholds he could find, he scrambled up the side, until he could see into the cockpit.

Through the dirty and cracked canopy, he could see Ariane, slumped unconscious in her seat. Cursing, he tried to remember where the hatch was. Sliding back down, he looked at the underside of the _Python's_ head, all the while keeping half an eye on where the incoming fire was landing. He yanked at the large, heavy lever and pulled the circular portal open. Jordi scrambled inside and was almost overcome by the stifling heat. Taking a moment to catch his breath, he clambered awkwardly to the front. Perching precariously on the command console, he unsheathed his combat knife without thinking, before remembering to try the harness release button. It worked and the straps fell away, leaving him to catch Ariane one-handed as her inert body fell out of the command couch.

He put his knife away, ripped away the cables connecting her neurohelmet and cooling vest and manhandled her to the hatch, dropping her to the ground as gently as he could. He was just about to jump, when the cockpit was destroyed by a huge blast. What weapon had done the deed, he could not tell, but he jumped reflexively, wincing as he felt several shards of debris lacerate his back through his jumpsuit.

Her skin burned to his touch, indicating just how far she had pushed herself over the limit, before her mech had given up on her. Jordi checked for a pulse, it was weak and rapid, but she seemed to be breathing okay. He struggled out of his jumpsuit and with considerable difficulty, put it on Ariane, to make sure she didn't cool too quickly and end up catching pneumonia, or something worse.

With the focus of the battle having shifted once more, he was able to carry her back to the relative safety of the woods, where he allowed himself time to rest and treat his wounds, as best he could, before starting the five kilometre trek to the Cavaliers' mobile field base.

Star Captain Novak Tamzarian let loose a string of curses as his _Glass Spider_ was pounded by another salvo of missiles and wrestled the controls to manoeuvre his mech behind a sturdy-looking brick barn. Despite having a decent top speed, the ungainly machine was not very agile. Consequently, he found himself unable to evade the attacks by the smaller enemy mechs. The three _Riflemen IICs_ were slower, but at least had jump capability.

His HUD showing that his twin gauss rifles had reloaded and the coils recharged, he moved out from cover to seek a new target. To his right, he saw one _Rifleman_ blitz a smaller machine, identified by his battle computer as an _Initiate_. As its quad large pulse lasers blazed away, there was an explosion from the Blakist mech's centre torso and the _Initiate_ fell heavily, face-first to the ground. Further ahead of him, the second _Rifleman_ swivelled its arms upwards, its pilot tracking the flight of another mech, which was identified on his tactical display as a _Wyvern_. A flurry of ruby darts followed it, almost like tracer fire, as it arced upwards on trails of fiery plasma, then down. It landed heavily and limped along for a few steps, before its left leg gave way, sending the mech crashing to the ground.

The third _Rifleman_ was engaging the surviving _Huron Warrior_ and another mech, which he recognised as a _Phoenix Hawk_, but which, strangely, did not register on his sensor readouts.

Another volley of long-range missiles slammed into the barn, he had just been using for cover, completely demolishing it. He targeted the enemy _Apollo_, which had been keeping its distance from the meleé, using its twin LRM racks to good effect and unleashed two nickel-ferrous slugs, weighing a quarter-ton between them. Using his HUD magnifier, he saw one slug obliterate the _Apollo's_ right missile rack, while the second punched hole in its right torso. Novak gave a snarl of satisfaction as he watched the mech teeter briefly, before falling on its back. It was down, but probably not out of the fight yet.

Despite taking a hammering, the enemy showed no sign of pulling back. Tamzarian soon saw why as yet more contacts registered on his radar. The _Glass Spider_ reeled backwards as it was struck hard by four large projectiles, which smashed the last of the armour on his left leg and torso. A brilliant azure beam flashed out of the darkness, striking the knee joint and Novak suddenly found his movement restricted.

"Leg damage, reverse disabled", said the infuriatingly calm voice of the audio warning system.

"Freebirth!" snarled Tamzarian. The newcomers had apparently identified him as the biggest threat and were doing their level best to neutralise him.

His sensors now picked up the inbound enemy,. A _Black Knight_, two _Riflemen_, a _Yeoman_ and a pair of _Champions_.

Glancing out of his cockpit, he saw the two Riflemen of his own unit, not currently engaged, take up positions near a barn and a workshop…two of the few buildings that remained standing.

Novak slammed the throttle to the stops and forced his _Glass Spider_ closer to the cover of a grain silo, its gimped leg ploughing up furrows in the soft ground.

The Blakists were closing too quickly though. Tamzarian halted and torso-twisted to face the onrushing enemy mechs. He picked out one of the _Champions_. Notoriously lightly-armoured, they were usually considered soft targets. Lining it up in his crosshairs and tracking slightly in front, to compensate for its speed of advance, he unleashed another salvo from his gauss rifles. Again zooming in on the mech with his HUD magnifier, he was gratified to see the heavy, watermelon-sized slugs crash home with devastating effect. The first shattered the thin armour protection over its right hip and the second mangled the mechanical linkages that formed the joint. The _Champion's_ momentum carried it forward a few more steps, before the joint disintegrated and the bird-like mech fell to the ground in an undignified heap.

That earned him the attention of the _Black Knight_ pilot, who fired another shot from his ERPPC. This time however, Novak was prepared and was already ducking his mech behind the grain silo, causing his opponent to hit the tall storage vessel instead, slashing a large hole in the side. Almost invisible, the silo's contents fountained out of the jagged gash.

Another salvo of missiles from the distant _Yeoman_ caused the top of the silo to disintegrate, throwing up a huge cloud of grain, the dust of which ignited, creating a large fireball. The force of the blast toppled Tamzarian's _Glass Spider_. The impact drove the wind from his lungs and sent sharp lances of pain shooting through his back. None of this stopped him cursing fluently and wrestling the controls in a futile attempt to get his mech to stand again. When it became apparent it had simply sustained too much damage, he angrily wrenched out his neurohelmet and cooling vest cords from their sockets and slammed his palm against the harness release button.

"Gamma Lead is down", he almost snarled into his radio, "All remaining Gamma units to fall back and regroup at Nav Epsilon".

As he listened to the acknowledgements a new voice came over the command channel.

"It appears you put up a good fight. My thanks for thinning out the ranks of these freebirths – though I trust you have left enough for us to have some sport".

Recognising the voice immediately, Novak replied through gritted teeth.

"Do not worry Alannah, there are plenty more surats that need exterminating".

He scrambled out of his command couch and made for the hatch. Having already witnessed the way some of the Blakists continued to fire on (and in some cases trample) downed mechs, he exited his fallen machine just as quickly as he could.

Binary Beta arrived to reinforce what was left of Gamma, striding boldly from the cover of the woods, catching the advancing Blakists cold.


	37. Wardog's Last Fight

The Blakists didn't remain surprised for long though and quickly targeted the newcomers. Jerricho braced herself as she saw several flashes of weapon discharges aimed in her general direction, however only one shot struck her _Canis_, the light gauss round shattering armour plating from her mech's right leg.

The enemy were now in range of her main weapons and dropping her crosshairs over the nearest enemy, she unleashed two of her quartet of extended range large lasers and both Ultra Class 10 autocannon.

The Blakist _Rifleman_ staggered under the barrage, the armour of its right arm vapourised by laser fire, before the heavy autocannon rounds struck home, shattering the upper arm joint, sending half its main weaponry crashing to the ground. The WoB pilot began to back away, laying down covering fire with the _Rifleman's_ battery of extended range medium lasers, most of which failed to find a target and those that hit only causing superficial damage.

Looking to her left, Alannah saw Star Commander Darsha emerge from the treeline in her _Timber Wolf Prime_. Almost immediately, the Blakist _Black Knight_ struck with its ERPPC and large lasers. The left arm of Darsha's mech went limp as the armour was breached and the myomer bundles controlling the limb were severed. Darsha responded with a salvo from her twin LRM20 missile racks, most of them missing their mark as the pilot went into a series of evasive moves.

One of the _Yeomans_, both of which were still keeping their distance, let loose another volley of long range missiles, which struck the left torso of Darsha's _Timber Wolf_. The extensive damage also set off the remaining missiles in the left launcher. Fortunately the force of the resulting explosion was vented by the mech's CASE system.

Almost on cue, the _Grizzly_ and _Guillotine IIC_ of Beta Heavy came sailing over the treeline on trails of plasma fire, opening up with their long-range weapons. The _Grizzly's_ gauss rifle and _Guillotine's_ ERPPC combined to devastating effect, breaching an ammo bin and triggering a huge explosion, which although vented by the _Yeoman's_ CASE system, deprived it of half its ammunition, meaning it wouldn't be in the fight much longer.

Just then, a number of new contacts appeared on the Cavaliers' radar displays and their threat indicators lit up.

"Incoming – bearing Zero One Seven!" was all Darsha had time to yell over the com link, as a swarm of long range missiles blazed towards them. They were easy enough to spot from the bright exhaust flares, but dodging them was another matter entirely.

Only one of the Cavalier mechs was equipped with ECM and to make matters worse, the pair of _Grand Crusaders_, which had fired the missiles, had Artemis fire control systems, which greatly increased the lethality of their payloads.

The best part of eighty long range missiles slammed into the mechs of Binary Beta, before they had a chance to find cover. Darsha's _Timber Wolf_ bore the brunt of one volley, losing most of it's armour and remaining missile rack. To Jerricho's amazement, it somehow remained standing, though it didn't look in any shape to continue fighting.

She stamped on her foot pedals, igniting her _Canis'_ jump jets, to avoid the worst of a second salvo aimed at her. Unfortunately, this meant the _Guillotine IIC_ and _Glass Spider_ behind her took a battering.

Star Commander Darsha cursed fluently as she attempted to get her malfunctioning displays to work, occasionally coughing as the smoke from burning circuitry irritated her lungs. The HUD worked only intermittently, although she didn't need to read it to know her mech was in a bad way. Only the large and medium lasers in her _Timber Wolf's_ right arm were still functional. The chill night air blowing in through jagged holes in the torso told her all she needed to know about her armour situation. The left knee and hip actuators appeared to be damaged, as the mech refused to move at anything faster than a bone-jarring limp, even at full throttle. Her com system had also been knocked out by that final volley, so she couldn't even radio for assistance.

With a final curse, which quickly turned into a choking cough, she powered her machine down, grateful that at least that function still worked and began to unstrap herself from her command couch. She had also seen her unit's _Viper B_ and _Grizzly_ take a hammering from yet more missile volleys. As she undogged the escape hatch and exited with her survival kit, she hoped fervently that Star Colonel Nuyriev was on his way with reinforcements.

Star Captain Alannah Jerricho made a quick assessment of Binary Beta's status and didn't like what she came up with. She activated her radio and selected the cluster command channel.

"Jerricho to Command, the Blakists are not showing any signs of withdrawing. We will need reinforcements as soon as possible".

She was relieved to receive an instant reply from Star Captain Clearwater.

"Copy that Beta Lead. Command is en route and should be in position to engage in the next minute or so. Where is Alpha? They should be in position to assist already".

Alannah gave a frustrated snort, "I have not been able to raise Star Captain Steele or any of Binary Alpha. I have no idea where they are".

* * *

Star Captain Marcus Steele gritted his teeth and pushed the throttle of his _Timber Wolf A_ to the stops. He heard the creak of metal under extreme strain and its leg actuators whine in protest, as it attempted to pull the fifty-five ton _Stormcrow_ free of the swamp Alpha Heavy had blundered into in their haste to join the action.

Worse still, when he had attempted to raise Command to inform them of their predicament, all his radio channels had been filled with static. A hasty MagRes scan of their surroundings had revealed the presence of large deposits of ferrite and other magnetic materials, whose natural fields were scattering their com signals.

'_What kind of hellish place has woodland, swampland and ore-bearing rocks in the same patch of ground?'_ he wondered as he tried torso twisting, trying to create a rocking effect with the tow cable, which he hoped would help the _Stormcrow_ break free of its boggy trap.

The _Timber Wolf_ gave a sudden lurch as the load slackened, signalling the lighter mech was beginning to break free. Steele quickly eased the throttle back and adjusted his direction slightly, to avoid ramming his mech into a large tree directly ahead of him. The lack of space was severely hampering their rescue efforts.

The _Stormcrow_ pilot's static fuzzed communications were encouraging and Marcus eased the throttle forward again to build momentum. Looking to the left out of his canopy, he could see Star Commander Nathan in his _Timber Wolf Prime_, attempting the same thing with his unit's _Nova Prime_, whose pilot had also failed to avoid the morass.

To top it off, Star Commander Landon had managed to jump his _Summoner Prime_ into the deepest part of the quagmire, depriving him of most of his jump capability. The two torso jets not submerged were insufficient to pull him clear and it was taking the combined efforts of Alpha Assault's other _Summoner_ and _Timber Wolf_ to pull him clear.

Steele's mech lurched again and it required some deft work with the throttle and joystick to avoid colliding with yet another tree.

"I am free – my thanks, Star Captain!" came the crackly message of gratitude from the Stormcrow's pilot.

"You are welcome", replied Steele, just managing to remember to avoid using contractions.

Although nearly all the Cavaliers were now comfortable using the lazier Inner Sphere mode of speech, they still preferred to speak as Clanners with each other.

He switched to the Binary's command frequency, "Landon, Nathan – how are you doing?"

"Kallis is almost free – it should be the work of a few more minutes at most", replied Nathan, sounding relieved.

Landon's response was less encouraging, "Progress is still slow, Star Captain. This accursed swamp seems determined to devour my mech. It may be some time before I am free".

'_Stravag!'_ thought Steele, thinking for a few moments before coming to a decision. "We will have to move without you. It seems these Blakists have plenty of stomach for a fight and are giving both Tamzarian and Jerricho a hard time of it. You will have to catch up when you are able, quiaff?"

"Aff, Star Captain", replied Landon. Steele could hear the annoyance in the other man's voice, tinged with embarrassment at having got himself into his predicament.

* * *

Risa Clearwater kicked her _Hellbringer_ into a run, to keep up with Star Colonel Nuyriev, who had just pushed his _Mad Dog C_ to its maximum speed of 86kph. Behind her, the other three mechs of the Command Nova did likewise. Going so fast in dense woodland was reckless…stupid even, but the calls for reinforcements demanded a rapid response. They risked damaging their machines with the headlong charge, not to mention the Elementals riding shotgun on the mechs, but cleared any obstructions they couldn't avoid, using their weapons.

Reaching the treeline, Risa sidestepped a cluster of saplings and slowed down, to give her _Hellbringer's_ twin ERPPCs time to charge. Nuyriev forged on, bursting onto open ground and rapidly lining up his mech's twin gauss rifles on the second _Yeoman_, which strayed into his sights as its pilot sought out another target, from a position of imagined safety. Both shots hit the Blakist mech squarely in the right torso, the massive damage detonating several missiles and triggering a catastrophic explosion, which also destroyed the right shoulder launcher. This time the _Yeoman's_ CASE system could not save it and it toppled to the ground, completely gutted along its right side.

A _Cerberus_ emerged from the darkness, its massive arms lowering to train on the smaller Clan Omnimech. Nuyriev, who hadn't even broken stride while taking out the _Yeoman_, smoothly switched direction, trying to break his opponent's target lock, but was surprised when the enemy machine followed his movements with apparent ease. The azure lightning of an extended range particle cannon blazed from one arm, flaying armour from the _Mad Dog's_ left leg. A split second later, the gauss rifle in its other arm flared with a pale blue discharge and Alexei felt his mech shudder as the heavy nickel-ferrous slug struck, just below the left hip joint. The controls immediately became less responsive and the grinding noise from the damaged bearings and couplings immediately told him he was in trouble.

As he limped back towards the treeline, in an attempt to find some cover, Clearwater charged into the open and blazed away at the advancing Blakist with both her ERPPCs. They struck the _Cerberus_ in its centre torso, vapourising enough armour to make it stagger from the sudden loss of mass and giving the pilot something to think about. Having regained balance, the Blakist began a defensive circling manoeuvre. The rest of Command Nova arrived and began selecting targets.

Despite being heavily outgunned, the Cavalier pilots leapt into the fray eagerly, using their greater mobility to avoid the enemy's larger weapons. An oncoming _King Crab_, _Albatross_ and _Battlemaster_ opened up with their long range weapons, mostly extended range lasers and LRMs, inflicting superficial damage as they struggled to pin down their more manoeuvrable opponents.

Still tracking the _Cerberus_, Clearwater noticed from the corner of her eye, the two _Grand Crusaders_, which were hanging back from the melee. Suddenly her threat warning alarm rang out, informing her that over forty long range missiles were inbound. Glancing to her left, she saw the flares of dozens of inbound missiles…headed straight at Nuyriev's _Mad Dog_. He was struggling to make his crippled mech move and had no chance of avoiding the barrage. Risa's stomach convulsed and she was nearly physically sick.

Heart pounding as though it would burst from her chest, she broke off from the _Cerberus_ and pushed her _Hellbringer_ into a sprint. The only Cavalier mech equipped with ECM, she hoped she could provide a protective bubble that would shield the Star Colonel. Less than a hundred yards away, she covered the distance, just as the first salvo detonated all over the right side of Nuyriev's mech, scouring armour and damaging the right leg and bringing the _Mad Dog_ to a jerky halt.

She was perfectly positioned to absorb most of the second salvo. The ECM scrambled the guidance systems of nearly half, but the rest impacted all over the _Hellbringer_, throwing the mech off balance. As she wrestled with the controls, two smaller salvoes arrived, one striking her mech's centre torso and damaging the gyro and robbing Clearwater of her last vestiges of control. She braced herself for impact as she felt the sixty-five ton mech begin to topple backward.

She never saw the second salvo strike the cockpit of Nuyriev's immobilised _Mad Dog_, completely destroying it and killing the Star Colonel, in the process of unstrapping himself from his command couch.


	38. Condition Rabid

**10km east of Lakenheath,**  
**Britannia,**  
**Britannic Coalition**

The Star of Elementals, which completed the Command Nova, went on the offensive, running at the nearest enemy mechs and using their boarding claws to attach themselves to the legs. They wasted no time in setting to work, using their weapons and in some cases, brute force, to tear away armour, damage joints and myomer bundles, eager to fulfil their secondary function as anti-mech units. Although small and weak, compared to a battlemech, they could be terrifyingly effective, working in units. Once attached to a mech they could be incredibly hard to dislodge. Being swarmed by battle armour was chief among most mechwarriors' worst nightmares.

The remaining three Command Nova mechs formed a defensive perimeter around their downed leader and second-in-command, blazing away with reckless abandon at any Blakist mechs that came within range, heedless of the damage they were taking. Both _Mad Dogs_ and the _Timber Wolf_ fired volley after volley of LRMs, putting up a barrage that deterred all but the bravest or most foolhardy.

In the cockpit of her _Timber Wolf Prime_, Star Commander Jenas activated her radio, selecting the Cavaliers' emergency channel. "This is Jenas of Command Nova to all Cavaliers. Coyote Actual and Jackal are down…I repeat Coyote Actual and Jackal are down! Set Condition Rabid, I repeat set Condition Rabid!"

On hearing those words, every Cavalier warrior froze for a split second, as their implication sank in, before turning on the nearest enemy with a savagery worthy of their Clan's totem. From now on, their only objectives were to rescue their fallen comrades and withdraw to their concealed forward base in the local cave network.

Though separated by fifty metres of wooded hillside, Star Commanders Ellis and Briony shared a single thought, as Star Commander Jenas' broadcast came over their radios.

So far, they had been using hit and run tactics, as well as improvised traps, to gradually pick off the advancing Blakist troops.

The ones equipped with mimetic camo were proving to be the bane of the Cavaliers' existence, only registering on thermal and magnetic scans. Although the electronically generated camouflage usually failed after the suit had taken some damage (usually thanks to traps, grenades and "spray and pray" tactics) they were still creating havoc in the Cavaliers' ranks with their man-portable PPCs.

The slower and heavier assault battle armour troops were easier to spot, if harder to knock out and lethally effective with their scaled-down gauss rifles. The third kind was equally mobile and carried the same kind of weapons as the Elementals, but was more lightly armoured, though they compensated for this by utilising stealth technology.

In short, the Elementals had an armour advantage over two of them and a mobility advantage over the third. Their weapons also recycled faster than the more heavily armed enemy units. They needed every break, no matter how small.

Ambush tactics had served them well to this point, helping to minimise their losses, while inflicting the maximum possible damage on the enemy. However, on hearing that their leaders were in trouble, both Star Commanders rallied their surviving troops and simply charged for Command Nova's position, only slowing down to deal with any enemy troops in the way. Of course, breaking cover made them easier targets, but the sheer speed and ferocity of their assault went a long way to compensating. They stayed grouped in Points, as far as possible, concentrating fire on individual Blakist troops to bring them down as quickly as possible. Some even used their jump jets to perform DFA attacks on enemies caught in open space.

Surprised by this sudden change in tactics, the Word of Blake armoured infantry attempted to withdraw and regroup. Those in _Longinus_ suits suffered the most. Slow-moving and with weapons that took longer to recycle, they were unable to respond to the changing battlefield situation. Their heavier armour was unable to withstand concentrated fire for long. Those in the more mobile, lighter armoured _Achileus_ suits melted into the night and made for designated RV points. The _Purifier_ troops fared best, as the Cavaliers concentrated mostly on those enemies they could see without electronic aids. This allowed them to linger undetected, taking carefully aimed shots at the backs of the charging Elementals, accounting for a number of Cavalier troops. Not enough remained, however, to inflict serious casualties.

"Alpha Lead to Command Nova, I repeat this is Alpha Lead to Command Nova…any unit, please respond!"

Star Captain Marcus Steele kept his _Timber Wolf A's_ throttle pushed to the stops, as he burst through the last few metres of woodland, into open ground at the command unit's last known position. The lack of response to his repeated calls had left him fearing the worst, but as the scorched, churned and chaotic battlefield filled his cockpit canopy, a voice at last sounded in his radio earpiece, angry and slightly breathless.

"Took your _stravaging_ time, Marcus. Where in the name of Kerensky have you been?"

Once more, Steele cringed inwardly with shame, as he recognised Jerricho's barking tone, which sounded harsher than usual. Marcus guessed her voice was suffering from the heat of her cockpit and her frantic communications with the rest of her unit.

"Alannah, where are you?" he asked, cycling through the friendly contacts on his radar display.

The picture his sensors painted was not encouraging. The blue triangles, representing Cavalier units were retreating rapidly from Alpha's position, pursued by a larger number of red squares, representing Blakist units.

"We are attempting to fall back and withdraw to The Den. Status of Command Nova is unknown. Bravo and Gamma have taken heavy losses. Tamzarian is down and I have assumed overall command. We need time to regroup and reorganise".

The sound of weapons fire and explosions intruded over the radio link. "These freebirths are most damnably effective fighters and we cannot break contact. At this rate we will be overrun soon".

Steele's blood boiled with rage. "Not if I have anything to do with it. Where's the Star Colonel – was anyone able to get to him?" he asked, unwittingly lapsing into Spheroid speech.

"He should be close by". Jerricho's voice was more muted now. "Both he and Clearwater fell close to your position. We attempted to recover them, but the enemy forced us back before we could reach their mechs".

Another voice came over the command channel, "This is Star Commander Ellis to any receiving unit. Alpha Elemental is at the RV point and awaiting orders".

"As is Bravo Elemental". Both Marcus and Alannah recognised Star Commander Briony's voice.

Something in Steele's brain kicked into overdrive and a plan formed in his mind in a matter of seconds. "Which of your units is in best shape?" he asked the Elemental commanders.

"I have the greater number of battle-ready troops", answered Briony.

"Very well, make for Star Captain Jerricho's position and provide whatever assistance you can. Star Commander Ellis, form your troops into search parties and begin a sweep to locate the mechs of Command Nova".

They didn't have to search long. In the end the first thing they noticed was a unit of Blakist mechs, weaving its way through an area of the battlefield littered with the charred and twisted remains of over a dozen battlemechs. They were exchanging fire with an unseen enemy, whose constantly shifting positions were given away by emerald lances of laser fire and the occasional flare of a short-range missile.

Steele's radio burst into life. It was Ellis, "Star Captain – we have located Nova Elemental. Star Commander Rasel was killed in the opening exchanges, but the rest took the decision to remain until reinforcements arrived".

The Alpha Elemental commander's voice betrayed more than a hint of pride in his fellow foot soldiers, "They refused to leave the Star Colonel and their comrades, for the freebirth scum to find".

A part of Marcus's brain irrelevantly thought the freeborns who served with the Cavaliers wouldn't take too kindly to that comment, but it was only to be expected. Many of the trueborns, with a lifetime of training and conditioning, would always have that instinctive reaction to those not created by the Clan eugenics program.

"Very well, pull back and order the Nova Elementals to do the same", Steele said, careful not to lapse into Spheroid speech. "I would hate for them to get caught in the crossfire. Things are about to get very ugly".

"But, Star Captain…" Ellis protested.

"You have your orders, Star Commander", Steele snapped impatiently, "We are going to take these _surats_ down hard and fast and will not worry about anyone getting in the way. You understand, quiaff?"

"Aff", came the sullen reply.

Steele didn't care if he'd injured the other man's pride. He simply wanted to finish off the Blakists as quickly as possible, locate the Star Colonel and any other survivors and get out of there before the enemy decided to throw more troops at them.

* * *

Steele allowed himself a quiet sense of satisfaction as his _Timber Wolf's_ twin ERPPCs reached out across the darkness and vapourised the Blakist _Grand Crusader's_ right missile launcher. The resulting ammo explosion caused heavy secondary damage to its torso and knocked it to the ground, temporarily halving the barrage of long-range missiles that were raining down on Binary Alpha. He switched targets, trusting one of the others to finish it off.

The second _Grand Crusader_ had already begun shifting position, but Marcus tracked it patiently, ignoring the hits his mech was taking, allowing his reticule to drift over its torso, while his particle cannon recharged…_there_! He took the shot as soon as the weapon icons on his HUD blinked green. He cursed as his shots merely flayed armour from the Blakist's right torso. It was enough, however, to spook the enemy pilot into kicking his machine into a run for cover. Steele pushed his throttle to the stops, determined to bring it down quickly.

A quick glance to his left showed him the _Summoner_ and _Ice Ferret_ of Mechwarriors Sasha and Clark, firing their ERPPCs at the first _Crusader_, which had got to its feet again. The shots were enough to vapourise the lower part of its already-damaged left leg and when it fell, it stayed down.

Marcus returned his attention to his current target, keeping his crosshairs over the bulky machine as he closed in. He fired his ERPPCs alternately, allowing him to loose off a shot every four seconds. He was careful not to get too close. He didn't want to get within range of the enemy mech's lethal battery of pulse lasers, which would whittle away his armour in short order. Instead he was content to dodge and weave, avoiding volleys of long-range missiles.

It was too dark and the battle too frenetic for him to tell how much damage he was doing, but a quick glance at his damage display, as well as the intermittent threat warnings on his console, told him other enemies were taking advantage of his distraction, to unleash their weapons on him.

"Nothing serious yet. I can hold on a while longer", he muttered to himself, "…provided I do not pass out from the heat".

His prolonged use of the twin particle cannon was beginning to tax the _Timber Wolf A's_ twenty double heat sinks, making the cockpit uncomfortably warm. Worse, the longer this battle went on, the greater the risk of the Blakists calling in reinforcements.

He decided to risk overheating his mech and unleashed both ERPPCs together. He was rewarded with an explosion which gutted the _Grand Crusader's_ centre torso, destroying it's gyro in the process. It went down hard and didn't move again.

Marcus hardly felt like celebrating however, as he saw his HUD's heat scale spike well into the red zone and felt an intense heat wave wash through the cockpit, that made him slightly dizzy for a moment. He punched the coolant flush button on the main console and felt some immediate relief, as extra refrigerant was pumped through sinks, allowing them to dissipate more heat.

Scanning for new targets, he found a machine that his battle computer classified as a _Cerberus_, a few hundred metres to his right, looking worse for wear. It staggered as an electric blue lance flashed out of the darkness, followed by a cloud of smoke and fire, as a salvo of LRMs found their mark. Gouts of smoke and flame erupted from ragged holes in its torso, followed seconds later by a blast of fire from it's head, as the pilot launched the escape pod. The machine remained frozen in place as Star Commander Nathan's _Timber Wolf Prime_ emerged from the night, followed closely by a _Summoner Prime_.

Elsewhere an enemy _Albatross_ and _Battlemaster_ were under attack from Alpha Assault's _Summoners_ and _Hellbringer_, the lighter mechs easily outmanoeuvring their larger, slower opponents, inflicting heavy damage, while avoiding much of the return fire.

Suddenly, as if on some unheard command, the Blakists began to disengage, resuming their original course and covering their withdrawal with a barrage of weapons fire. The leading units, which had been pursuing the retreating Cavaliers, now came streaming past Alpha's position, without even attempting to engage them. His desire for vengeance still burning, Steele was tempted to pursue them, but knew he had more important tasks to attend to.

He activated his radio, selecting the Elemental command channel, "Star Commander Ellis, you may move in to search for our people".

"Aff", came the curt reply.

Ellis didn't need telling that his priority was to recover Star Colonel Nuyriev and Star Captain Clearwater.

It took longer than anticipated, even with three points of Elementals searching the wreckage. The darkness and the sheer number of mangled battlemechs made identification difficult. Occasionally they would come across a still-living Blakist pilot. Since they could ill-afford to take prisoners, Ellis ordered his troops to finish them off. Ordinarily, it went against Clan conduct to kill an enemy who was unable to fight back, but the Condition Rabid order overrode normal protocols.

With every passing minute Steele became more anxious, expecting at any moment to see a new Blakist unit appear on his radar display. Finally, after what seemed like hours, his radio came to life with a burst of static.

"We have them, Star Captain Steele", said Ellis tersely.

Marcus didn't have to ask who he meant. "Very good Star Commander". He paused, wondering how to phrase his next question.

"Status?" It sounded very cold and clinical, but it was the best he could think of.

"Star Captain Clearwater is gravely injured, but we have been able to extract her from her mech and have requested medical assistance".

"And Star Colonel Nuyriev?"

There was a pause on the other end of the link. "We recovered his body. His mech took several direct hits to the cockpit and sustained massive damage. He suffered extensive shrapnel wounds and burns. It was probably a quick death".

Marcus was still too high on adrenaline from the rush of battle to physically feel much, but he closed his eyes and bowed his head, as a muted wave of sadness washed over him.

"Acknowledged, Star Commander. Were there any others?"

"Neg. It appears the rest of Command Nova fought to the death to avenge them".

This time, the sadness managed to penetrate his battlefield exhilaration. His chest tightened a little and he felt tears begin to well up. He blinked rapidly to get rid of them, swallowed and took some deep breaths.

"Very well. Let us leave this forsaken place and regroup at the Lair".


	39. Air Resistance

**III-Delta Patrol Sector,**  
**5km Southwest of Westminster,**  
**Britannia, Britannic Coalition**

Acolyte Storm Rasmussen almost jumped in his seat, as his _Peregrine's_ sensors picked up first one, then a cluster of ground contacts. The leading two groups of red squares moved rapidly.

'_Probably hovertanks'_, he thought, bringing the VTOL to a steady hover, so he could get a better picture of the situation.

Four slower groups came next, which he guessed were tracked or wheeled vehicles. He almost called in the contacts right then, but caught himself and forced himself to wait a little longer. His patience was rewarded, when his sensor painted a rank of slow-moving contacts, moving steadily and in a much looser formation. These were almost certainly battlemechs. They had to be the leading elements of the WoB Shadow Division.

He activated his radio, selecting his unit's command frequency. "Epsilon One to Valkyrie Lead, I'm reading over thirty, that's three-zero ground contacts, bearing Zero Six Seven, range Nine Three Zero. Lead elements closing fast".

Since their transponders weren't broadcasting any code recognised by Coalition forces, they were immediately classified as hostiles. III-Delta's radio net began to fill with chatter as his fellow pilots detected the inbounds. The tension of flying sentry duty for the last half hour, coupled with the murky, overcast conditions, was making everyone more nervous than usual.

It took a sharp command from Demi-Precentor Tarja Sorensen to get everyone to focus on the mission. With the exception of the _Karnovs_, all the aircraft of III-Delta had paired off and proceeded to fly racetrack patterns over the Blakist Shadow Division's likeliest avenues of approach. Now everyone's radar displays were showing almost identical pictures and their battle computers were identifying most of the enemy units as being identical to those used by their own ground forces.

'_That'll make things interesting'_, she thought, as she activated her own radio, selecting the command channel to put her in touch with their ground units.

"Valkyrie Lead to Command. Enemy ground units inbound, estimate Level III strength, mixed armour and battlemechs. Closing on Gamma's position. Suggest Alpha and Bravo re-deploy to support".

Five kilometres north-east of the Valkyries' patrol area, her _Cerberus_ in the centre of The Aesir's line of battle, Demi-Precentor Agnetha Toksvig felt her heart skip a beat and her mouth suddenly go dry.

"Copy that Valkyrie, you are free to engage at will. Will advise Bravo to re-deploy".

"Roger Command, preparing to engage enemy ground…oh _dritt_!"

Toksvig's heart rate went up a few more notches as she heard Sorensen's curse.

"Valkyrie Lead to Command, unable to engage enemy ground units – they've brought air support of their own!"

"_Helvete_! Copy that Valkyrie. Keep those _rasshols_ off us and we'll take care of their ground forces".

Toksvig turned her attention to the more immediate threat. "Aesir Lead to Epsilon and Theta. Engage enemy units approaching your positions".

"Copy that, Aesir Lead", came the formal reply from Demi-Precentor Martin Kristiansen, commander of Midgard Steel III-Theta.

"Already rolling, Aggie", replied Demi-Precentor Jesper Andersen, commander of The Norsemen III-Epsilon, in his typically laconic fashion. "Don't worry, we'll whittle them down nicely before they reach you".

Toksvig rolled her eyes, but didn't rise to the bait. She was still struggling to adjust to her recent, unplanned elevation to command of an entire Division and had a tendency to micromanage, instead of leaving her fellow unit commanders to exercise their own initiative.

Checking the data that had been relayed to her by Sorensen, she rapidly calculated the new positions they needed to take up, in order to ensure the Blakists walked into their carefully laid trap, transmitting the co-ordinates to Demi-Precentor Mikael Forssell, who waited with Mjollnir's Thunder III-Bravo, just over a kilometre to the east and to her own troops.

Most Coalition air combat units consisted of _Peregrines_, _Pintos_ and _Yellow Jackets_. It seemed the Blakists also favoured these, in addition to _Hawk Moths_ and _Warriors_. They were approaching in a loose formation, in pairs, strung out in a long line running west to east. It was a good tactic, which allowed them to split up, as the situation demanded, as well as support each other. With both sides sporting a similar grey-white paint scheme, it would also make for a very confusing battle.

Sorensen activated her radio. "Valkyrie Lead to all units. Move to designated areas of engagement and wait for my signal".

As much as she longed to rush headfirst into battle, she knew it would be smarter to give the Blakists time to show their hand. It turned out she didn't have to wait long. Their first move surprised her, but only briefly. The Blakist _Pintos_ surged forward, breaking ranks and launching a volley of LRMs.

Over her radio headset, she heard the commander of her _Peregrine_ unit bark an order and watched them scatter. The incredibly fast but very lightly armoured VTOLs were the most vulnerable units on both sides and their pilots would be relying on their manoeuvrability for survival.

More than half the missiles missed their targets, although shouts of alarm and curses over the radio told her at least some scored hits.

Her own _Pintos_ responded in kind. Using her HUD's zoom facility she followed the smoke trails and suppressed a cry of excitement as she saw one enemy craft take several direct hits and explode in midair.

Her joy was short-lived, however, as the enemy _Hawk Moths_ and _Warriors_ took up attack positions. Pale blue discharges erupted from the noses of the _Moths_ as they fired their light gauss rifles. Sorensen didn't see the end results, but two sharp cries, followed by bursts of static, told her at least two of her pilots were now dead.

Smoke billowed from the _Warriors'_ missile racks as another volley of LRMs, twice as large as the first, surged towards II-Epsilon – her second _Peregrine_ unit. Although the unit commander also gave the order to scatter, there were many more missiles to evade and two more craft were lost.

Gritting her teeth in anger, Tarja activated her radio and brought her _Yellow Jacket_ up to full throttle. "Two Gamma, advance and engage at will!"

The six _Yellow Jackets_, the slowest craft used by either side, also had the disadvantage of being powered by internal combustion engines, rather than fusion reactors. That meant the pilots also had to worry about fuel explosions. The minutes it took to move within weapon range of their tormentors, felt like hours. Finally, the crosshairs in Tarja's HUD flashed gold, telling her the target, a _Hawk Moth_, was in range. Her finger tightened on the joystick's primary trigger and she felt the craft buck slightly, as though she had hit some turbulence, as the full-sized gauss slug accelerated to hypersonic speed. A gauss rifle was capable of penetrating the armour of a medium battlemech with one shot. A VTOL stood no chance.

The slug struck its target. The _Hawk Moth_, also powered by an ICE engine, simply disintegrated, as hot engine fragments ignited vapour in its fuel tank.

Five more pale blue lances reached out, the friction caused by the gauss slugs hypersonic flight, heating the air and causing it to glow faintly. Another _Hawk Moth_ and two _Warriors_ fell. The _Warriors'_ deaths were made more spectacular by their heavy missile loads detonating as well, the clouds of shrapnel causing splash damage to nearby aircraft.

At this point the air battle degenerated into a dogfight, as the enemy _Cavalry_ and _Peregrine_ units chose this moment to attack from the flanks, while the Valkyries had been preoccupied with the long-range bombardment.

Fortunately her own pilots were alert to the danger and on her radar display, she saw two swarms of blue dots move left and right to meet the new threat, accompanied by calls from her unit commanders.

"Delta Lead to Valkyrie Lead, enemy units coming in from three o'clock and nine o'clock. Moving to engage".

"Bravo is moving to engage".

"Epsilon is moving to engage".

"Alpha standing by to engage any hostiles that break through".

Tarja felt like she was in the eye of a storm, currently restricted to taking pot shots at the Blakist VTOLs that were continuing to hang back, while her faster units tangled with the converging enemy craft in a furious melee.

* * *

**The Norsemen III-Epsilon,**  
**Western Flank,**  
**5km Southwest of Westminster**

"Theta Lead to Viking, we have contact with enemy armour units!"

"Epsilon Lead to Viking, we have sighted enemy hover transports. They've slowed and are deploying their battle armour. Should we send our troops out to play with them?"

"Negative, Epsilon Lead".

For Demi Precentor Jesper Anderson, the decision was a fairly simple toss up. Did he engage the enemy at maximum range and try to blunt their attack before things got really messy, or did he hold fire, allowing them to close, before hitting them with a concentrated barrage? In the end he'd opted for massed firepower, which would hopefully tear a gaping hole in their ranks.

"This is Viking to all units, hold fire and pull back to nav point Mu. We want as many of them in weapons range as possible before we hit them".

In the end, it paid off. While the Blakists approached in unit order, with the fast hovertanks in the lead, with the slower tracked vehicles bringing up the rear, Andersen had his vehicles arrayed right across the enemy's line of advance, according their optimum weapon ranges.

It required iron discipline and the Coalition forces paid a price as the lead Blakist units opened up as soon as they were in range. Cyan lances of gauss rifle discharges and missile trails lit up the still-grey morning. Nickel-ferrous gauss slugs and long-range missiles began landing in and around the defenders' positions. Jesper listened to the radio net with gritted teeth as first one, then a second, then a third tank was destroyed.

It would not be enough to affect the response though and it felt like a weight had been removed from his chest when he finally gave the order.

"Viking to all units…one volley then fire at will!"

The western hillside lit up with gauss, laser and missile fire, as every unit in III-Epsilon fired a co-ordinated salvo. The effect on the advancing Blakists was devastating. The Coalition units' enforced wait had given them time to select and track their targets and the effect of such concentrated firepower was to turn the enemy's front ranks into so much wreckage.

Through his _Sturmfeuer's_ viewing scope, Andersen saw the eastern hills light up as the tanks of III-Theta added their fury to the attack, their fire pouring into the Blakists' middle ranks and giving the enemy no time to recover from the first strike.

Jesper felt the 85-ton _Sturmfeuer_ lurch slightly, as the gunner fired it's heavy gauss rifle again. Swivelling the viewing scope back to the advancing enemy, he was both shocked and gratified to see nearly two dozen Blakist tanks either destroyed, disabled or on fire. The advance stalled as those units behind tried to manoeuvre past their stricken comrades.

He grinned almost manically as he activated his radio and selected the command frequency. "Viking to Command, Blakist advance has been stalled. Estimate we took out almost an entire Level III with our opening salvoes. Casualties light, so far and position is secure. Eastern flank looking solid too".

Agnetha Toksvig allowed herself a small smile of celebration as she responded. So far, so good, but there was a long way to go yet. "Command to Viking, acknowledged. Your Norsemen have done an amazing job, but don't get carried away. Pull back to nav point Tau, where we can cover you, before their mechs join the party".

She frowned as she thought of how this was playing out. Both sides evidently believed in combined arms actions, but due to their forces' relative dispositions, this was turning into a straight up fight between the separate elements.

Andersen sobered slightly as Toksvig's words sank in, "Copy that Command. We'll give them a parting shot, then pull back".

* * *

**III-Delta Patrol Sector,**  
**5km Southwest of Westminster**

"Bravo Five to Command, enemy breaking through on the right flank!"

Demi-Precentor Sorensen instinctively pushed her stick to the right and the rudder pedals to the left, bringing her _Yellow Jacket_ around to meet the threat. Cycling through her depleted target list, she found the four remaining _Hawk Moths_, which had slipped past the duelling _Peregrines_ and _Cavalry_ craft.

She switched her radio to her unit's frequency. "Gamma Lead to all units, four Moths at three o'clock – take 'em out!"

Pale blue gauss discharges reach across the grey sky to meet them. Three shots missed high or wide, but the fourth struck Tarja's craft on the right fuselage. The impact sent the VTOL tumbling out of control and it took every ounce of skill and strength she possessed to regain control.

Fortunately, _Yellow Jackets_ carried more armour and were able to absorb more damage than most VTOLs. Checking her craft's status, Tarja discovered the armour on her right side was now almost completely gone, but that her structural integrity was okay and no critical systems were damaged.

As for the enemy, they were about to be reminded that the _Yellow Jackets_' weaponry did twice the damage of their own. Sorensen regained her bearings just in time to witness the rest of II-Gamma unleash their response. All four _Moths_ sustained direct hits, either obliterating the cockpits or damaging the engines, plummeting to the ground.

Checking her tactical display again, the cloud of enemy and friendly contacts to the east had thinned out considerably. A dogfight was still ongoing, but a number of craft from both sides had broken off and were engaging in private duels.

She activated her radio again, "Command to Bravo Five".

There was no response. She tried again but still got no answer, so she switched frequencies.

"Command to Alpha Lead, sitrep".

The harassed sounding female pilot replied. "Alpha Lead to Command, we are currently engaging enemy Pinto unit. We're both out of missiles and its turned into a real furball. Delta are all over their Warriors…whoa, there goes another one! Looks like we've got the measure of these bastards, sir".

"What about Bravo and Epsilon?"

"Both gone, sir…but they took at least a dozen Blakists with them".

"Copy that".

Sorensen turned her attention back to the enemy flight of _Yellow Jackets_ that was still inexplicably hovering on the fringes of the battle. Suddenly a chorus of triumphant cries and yells sounded over the radio net. As she watched, the remaining enemy craft broke contact and headed for the safety of the WoB landing zone.

Tarja gave a cheer of her own and began laughing, the stress of combat slowly replaced by the relief and elation of victory. She selected III-Delta's general frequency and activated her radio once more.

"Fantastic job people! All units RTB".

She then switched to the Divisional command channel. "Valkyrie Lead to Command, enemy air threat neutralised".


	40. Kings and Pawns

**III-Epsilon,**  
**Eastern Flank,**  
**3km Southeast of Westminster**

"Viking to all units, begin withdrawal to nav point Tau and provide cover for III Theta".

Demi-Precentor Andersen waited for the acknowledgements to come in from his unit commanders, before sweeping the viewing scope across the once-green fields, now churned, blasted and littered with broken and burning machines. The thick pall of black-grey smoke obscured much of the battlefield, but enemy fire had slackened noticeably, as the Blakists tried to reform their ranks to resume their attack. With superior numbers and favourable terrain, he wasn't overly concerned, although he did wonder where the enemy battle armoured troops had gone. He'd seen them exiting the _Maxim_ hover transports, nearly twenty minutes ago, but it seemed they'd simply disappeared.

He braced himself as the _Sturmfeuer's_ driver brought the assault tank around in a slow, bumpy 360-degree turn and headed in the direction of the fallback position. The gunner rotated the turret to the backwards position, so they could fire at any pursuers. This allowed Andersen to continue scanning the area behind them and also to watch the distant elements of III-Theta leave their forward positions, mimicking his own unit's withdrawal. He knew he ought to feel satisfied at having blunted the enemy's attack so effectively, but a nagging thought in the back of his mind refused to go away.

* * *

**III-Gamma,**  
**Western Flank,**  
**5km Southwest of Westminster**

If the scouts and mech pilots of the Winged Warriors' III-Gamma knew what walked among them, they would have been even more nervous than they already were. As it was, the stress of having to maintain position, while the enemy advanced on them, combined with the strain imposed on the scouts, of maintaining constant patrols, meant mistakes and oversights crept in. Attention strayed, vigilance faltered and sensor readouts were misread.

"Wraith Lead to Command, confirm position of enemy unit to the west. Estimate Level III strength. Uploading co-ordinates now".

From his position, crouched behind a large-trunked tree, Adept Koren reeled off a list of numbers, designating the position of the enemy mech force, also noting unit types.

His _Purifier_ suit's mimetic camouflage, made him almost impossible to detect visually. He was surprised his battle armour's EM signature hadn't been picked up, but guessed the enemy were running with passive sensors in an effort to remain hidden themselves. Still, he had to be careful, as it was quite possible pick out with a thermal or magnetic resonance imaging system. Those in the _Achileus_ and _Longinus_ suits were having to hold further back, but received sensor feeds from their stealthier counterparts. The mission had started quite chaotically, as he and his unit had bundled out of their still-moving hover transports in the middle of a raging firefight.

On the plus side, the chaos on the battlefield had allowed them to slip away unnoticed, to carry out their mission. The hilly, wooded terrain provided excellent cover, while also making life difficult for the enemy patrols. There had been a number of close calls, but after half an hour of careful tracking and stalking, they had located their prey. Now all they had to do was remain undetected until the order came to attack.

* * *

**Highlander HGN-736,**  
**III-Alpha,  
66th Shadow Division,**  
**7km South of Westminster**

Demi-Precentor Sigma Foras, commander of the 66th Division's III-Alpha, nodded in satisfaction as he listened to the scout's report. "Acknowledged Wraith Lead, maintain surveillance until further notice".

As he ended the transmission, his radio beeped again to alert him to another incoming message. It was the commander of the battle armour unit sent to scout the eastern flank. Her report echoed the one he had just received moment earlier. Acknowledging her report, he switched channels to the divisional command frequency.

"Alpha Lead to Command. Scouts confirm presence of enemy units on our flanks - proceeding according to plan".

* * *

**Archangel Invictus,**  
**Command Level II,**  
**66th Shadow Division,**  
**10km South of Westminster**

Precentor Omicron Alastor listened impassively to his subordinate's report. While Manei Domini customarily addressed each other using full names and titles, they bowed to necessity in combat and followed the usual military conventions of call signs.

"Acknowledged, Alpha Lead".

He switched to the command frequency, so the other unit commanders would hear him.

"Bravo Lead, bear east on heading Three Two Five, enemy unit sighted at Nav Point Rho. Gamma Lead, bear west on heading Zero Eight Seven, second enemy unit sighted at Nav Point Sigma. Uploading co-ordinates now. Alpha Lead, advance at best speed on your current heading. Contact imminent, engage at your discretion".

* * *

**The Aesir III-Alpha,  
201st Division,  
3km South of Westminster**

"Ranger Lead to Aesir Lead. Enemy formation moving on our position: estimate Level III strength".

"Acknowledged Ranger Lead. What's their speed of advance?"

"Don't seem to be in that much of a hurry. They're matching the pace of their slowest units. Something strange about…"

Just then Demi-Precentor Toksvig heard a faint explosion on the other end of the radio link, before it was replaced by static.

"Ranger Lead, repeat your last. Ranger Lead, do you copy?"

She switched her radio to the general frequency for Level II-Theta. "Any receiving unit, this is Aesir Lead – please respond".

Her requests went unanswered. She had no way of knowing the forward observation positions, occupied by her battle armour units, had just been overrun by Blakist armoured troops.

"_Helvete_", she swore quietly to herself. Well, at least they knew the enemy were on their way. She switched channels again to The Aesir's general frequency.

"Aesir Lead to all units, our forward observers report the enemy moving on our position. Estimated strength is at least equal to our own. Remember, we need to hold these bastards and keep them bottled up until the House Guard can drop the hammer on them. We will smash these vermin…for the Coalition and for Precentor Koivu!"

The answering roar of defiance from her troops had her reaching for her headset's volume control. Toksvig smiled, heartened by the spirit of her warriors, though she would have given anything for a battery of artillery or some aerospace fighters, to whittle down the Blakists and sow a little confusion in their ranks.

* * *

**Highlander HGN-736,**  
**66th Shadow Division,**  
**4km South of Westminster**

The first rays of dawn had yet to touch the ground, just south of the capital. Nevertheless, with his HUD on maximum zoom, Demi Precentor Sigma Foras could just make out the ghostly shapes of the enemy formation, less than a kilometre away, still partially shrouded in the grey, early-morning gloom. His mech's C3i system was beginning to identify individual units and paint a picture of their dispositions. He selected the missile launcher from his weapons menu and drifted his crosshairs over the bulky outline of an _Awesome_. He waited for them to flash red, indicating target lock. He activated his radio.

"Alpha Lead to all units…engage".

His thumb hit the joystick's top-mounted firing button and the _Highlander_ vibrated as fifteen long range missiles shot from their launch tubes and sped towards their target. He then used the primary hat switch to select the gauss rifle, mounted in the right arm, before squeezing the main trigger. The _Highlander_ gave a slight lurch as the 125-kilo projectile sped from the barrel at hypersonic speed.

On either side of him, the gloom was illuminated by amplified, coherent light, man-made lightning and blazing missile trails, as the rest of Hand of Blake III-Alpha opened fire.

* * *

**Deva Invictus Omnimech,**  
**Command Level II,**  
**66th Shadow Division,**  
**5km South of Westminster**

Precentor Swindelli felt the tension rise within him, as he watched the lead elements of the Hand of Blake engage the enemy. Although safe for the time being, it was a reminder that, in just a few minutes' time, they would be plunged into the action.

Deciding to have another dig at his co-commander, he activated his radio. "Hey, Alastor – think there'll be anything left for us?"

There was a pause, presumably while the divisional commander issued orders to those ahead of them. When he replied, he sounded even more irked than usual.

"These Periphery scum are no match for my troops. I anticipate nothing less than a swift and decisive victory", he said curtly.

"Don't forget, these Periphery scum are Comstar…or were anyway", Swindelli replied, giving the Manei Domini another verbal poke.

"Then I hope our fallen brethren realise the futility of their resistance and allow the light of Blake's wisdom to shine upon them very soon".

'_I'm sure you do'_, Swindelli thought, _'But I'm here to make sure your troops don't get overly zealous and leave us something to take control of. It's why I'm in command, not you'_.

* * *

**The Aesir III-Alpha,**  
**201st Division,**  
**3km South of Westminster**

From the cockpit of her _Cerberus_, standing two hundred metres back from the Winged Warriors' forward positions, Demi-Precentor Agnetha Toksvig cringed inwardly as the first volley of Blakist fire struck home. Fully a dozen mechs reeled backwards under the onslaught. Three went down, including an _Awesome_ from II-Alpha and did not get back up. Realising that holding position would be suicidal, she activated her radio, selecting the Level III general frequency.

"Aesir Lead to all units, advance and fire at will! Keep your unit groupings intact as long as possible and concentrate fire until we close the range, to bring as many enemy down as possible, before we are forced into a melee situation".

II-Alpha, which comprised two _Battlemasters_, the surviving _Awesome_, a _Stalker_ and a _Cerberus_ opened fire. Lasers, PPCs and missiles lanced between the forward heavy and medium units, bridging the shrinking distance to the advancing enemy. Toksvig's heart sank when she saw that not a single enemy mech had even slowed, much less been brought down.

Then II-Bravo and Gamma, made up of _Orions_, _Marauders_, _Black Knights_, _Thunderbolts_ and _Warhammers_, together with a _War Dog_ and a _Hercules_, throttled up to full speed and added their weight to the attack. This attack was more co-ordinated and she was gratified to see half a dozen enemy mechs topple, to be left behind by the relentless advance.

Torso twisting, she saw her two medium units move out to meet their Blakist counterparts on the flanks. Of her battle armour, there was no sign, but she didn't have time to worry about that, as her sensors picked up another quartet of mechs moving into range, maintaining a 200 metre gap from the main force.

"What the hell are those?"

Toksvig jumped as Adept Morten Skarsgaard's voice sounded in her radio earpiece.

She activated her HUD's zoom function. Even at maximum magnifications he could only make out a minimal amount of detail. Still it was enough to tell these were unlike any mechs she'd seen before.

The largest looked like a huge bird of prey, with graceful, angular lines, despite its size. It had a quartet of what looked like antennae, sprouting from the back of its head, its left arm was a large calibre cannon of some kind, while its right ended in a large articulated hand, with partially-sheathed blade attached to the side of the arm.

Next to it was a slighter smaller one, with a boxier torso, housing a number of missile launchers. Just like the first, one arm was an autocannon, while the other was a hand / blade combo.

A few metres to the right of the largest one, was another, slightly smaller than the second. It was essentially a smaller copy of the heaviest, except that its torso housed an array of weapon barrels. The fourth, the smallest of the quartet, was by far the ugliest, squat and boxy looking, with its torso housing one large missile launcher and its left arm being an even larger missile mount.

As well as the articulated hands and blades, all four also mounted what appeared to be a beam weapon of some kind, above their cockpits, which were small and well protected. Also, unlike the rest of the enemy mechs, these were painted in a blood-red scheme with gold trim.

She simply stared at them for several moments, in a mixture of admiration and fear. Her warrior's eye analysed their structures and weaponry, looking for possible weaknesses. None were apparent.

"I don't know, Morten", she replied to her acting executive officer, "But I'm guessing that's their command unit. That makes them a priority target. We have to take them down at all costs".

She raised the right arm of her _Cerberus_, aiming it towards the nearest large enemy mech, a _King Crab_ and selected the command channel on her radio.

"Command Unit, advance! To victory or Valhalla!"

Her crosshairs flashed gold, over the _King Crab's_ wide, low torso and she squeezed her primary trigger. The _Cerberus'_ paired gauss rifles fired, causing the mech to lurch slightly.

Both shots struck home, smashing several armour plates from its right and centre torso. It stumbled and the pilot had to fight to keep the machine upright. The _Black Knight_ and _Warhammer,_ to her left and right, opened fire, sending a trio of particle beams at the damaged Blakist mech. The torso armour breached and from over half a kilometre away, Toksvig watched with detached interest as an explosion blew out a panel in its left torso. The _King Crab_ stumbled again and lurched to one side, but continued its advance, saved from critical damage by its CASE system.

The enemy advance continued unabated.

As the Blakists continued to press home their assault, The Aesir's lines buckled, but did not break. Formed mainly from experienced former Com Guard troops, they held formation, even though they were steadily forced back north, towards the city. This bought time for Mjollnir's Thunder III-Beta and The Nieflheim III-Gamma to make their entrance. Made up mostly from newer, inexperienced troops, they advanced in some disarray, some eager to join battle, while others were more cautious. The result was that their battle lines were in disarray and before the unit commanders could restore order, their Blakist counterparts had spotted the approaching threat and directed their troops out to the flanks.

The effect on the green Coalition units was devastating, with the cybernetically enhanced Manei Domini troops scything through the 201st's unblooded warriors at an alarming rate. Even the Blakists' Cleansing Fire III-Gamma, which had been mauled by the Coyote Cavaliers, had little trouble sweeping aside their opponents. The Winged Warriors' radio net began to light up with cries of alarm and calls for reinforcements, all over the battlefield.

The mechs of the Command Level II suddenly found missiles, lasers and particle beams lancing through the air around them. Explosions shook the ground and fountains of dirt erupted in front and to either side of them. It was time to get into the battle proper…they were sitting ducks while they remained separated from their unit.

Agnetha quickly scanned her sensor readings again and made a visual sweep of the battlefield. In the centre, less than half a kilometre now separated the leading elements of each side and the flanks were rapidly dissolving into chaos. It would take the House Guard five or ten minutes to move into position…it was time to make the call.

Activating her radio again, she selected an encrypted channel, not normally used by Coalition forces. "Castle to King…code word is Checkmate".

Hopefully, the phrase would be ambiguous enough to be meaningless to the Blakists, in the event they were able to intercept Coalition communications. As a further precaution, there would be no reply from Regent Sandringham, denying the Blakists the chance to trace the transmission co-ordinates, thus warning them of the ambush.

Demi-Precentor Toksvig throttled her _Cerberus_ to its maximum speed, directing her mech towards the centre of the battle line, where a handful of Blakists had broken through with their initial charge. The rest of her command unit followed, pouring a volley of fire into the enemy group, who suddenly found themselves cut off from their comrades.

* * *

**House Guard Muster Point,**  
**Shepperton Plateau,**  
**5km South West of Westminster**

The crackle of his radio earpiece broke the tense silence in the cockpit, making Regent William Sandringham jump and sending a surge of adrenaline through his body.

He immediately selected the Guards' command channel. "King to all units – power up and proceed with mission plan!"

"Copy that, King. We are go mission", replied Precentor Katelyn Marshall.

It was swiftly followed by acknowledgements from Demi-Precentors Konstantinou and Piotrowski.

Barely an hour after meeting up with the 201st Division, long-range patrols had spotted the leading elements of the Word of Blake 66th Shadow Division, bearing down on their positions. Having learned to their great sorrow, that the Winged Warriors' command unit had been destroyed some hours ago by a Blakist suicide attack, the Regent and Precentor Marshall agreed that Demi-Precentor Toksvig would remain in temporary command of the Division. With precious little time to devise a defensive strategy, Sandringham, Marshall and the other senior unit commanders had decided that III-Alpha, Beta and Gamma would form a loose, 3-sided box around the main approach road to Westminster, with the armour and infantry units allowed a floating role to attack targets of opportunity, or provide cover if the enemy looked like breaking through. Sandringham and the House Guard would wait in ambush, several kilometres to the south west of the city.

It was a simple, but tried and tested strategy, which would allow the enemy to advance and engage the 201st's III-Alpha head-on. III-Bravo and III-Gamma would then emerge from their flanking positions in the woods, to the east and west of the main approach to the city, forcing the Blakists to divide their force and hopefully inflicting significant damage in the process. Once the Blakists were fully engaged with the 201st, the House Guard would then strike from the south, playing the hammer to the Winged Warriors' anvil.

Unfortunately, the call for reinforcements had come much sooner than anticipated, sowing seeds of unease in Sandringham's mind. He did his best to ignore his anxiety and concentrate on the battle plan.

The House Guard had been waiting, powered down on a plateau that formed part of a range of low, wooded hills. With their mechs' reactors operating at minimum power, allowing only life support and communications, their thermal signatures had been effectively masked. The ore-bearing rocks in the plateau also played havoc with mag-res scans.

That would soon change, however.


	41. Hammer Strike

**Shepperton Plateau,**  
**12km South of Westminster,**  
**Britannia, Britannic Coalition,**  
**12th October 3068**

As Sandringham switched his mech from standby to full power, the faint hum from the reactor grew louder and the sounds of coolant pumps, fans and other machinery were added to the background noise. His sensors also picked up the thermal, magnetic and radar signatures of the rest of the unit, denoted as blue squares on the HUD's radar display.

With the troops already fully briefed, there was no need for further orders. The House Guard formed up by unit and followed the command unit, along the wide, winding track that led down from the plateau.

Even without firing any weapons, the _Dire Wolf's_ cockpit soon became warm, causing light perspiration to break out all over his body, reminding him of his ill-advised rock climbing expedition last year, in the sweltering tropics of Britannia's equatorial region. He swiped the sweatband on his left arm across his face, but it only provided temporary respite, as his face was soon damp again. He recalled Jackson's comment about how much time had gone by, since he'd last seen combat and for the first time, he began to wonder if his Chief of Staff didn't have a point.

On the plus side, the _Achates'_ cockpit was a familiar place to him and his hands operated the controls, almost without conscious thought on his part. This left his brain more or less free to process the data that appeared on his sensor displays and HUD, as well as the radio messages from the other unit commanders.

On the downside, he'd forgotten how intense the adrenaline rush could be and how exhausting operating in this overdriven state for prolonged periods was. No amount of simulator time could really prepare someone for the heat, confusion, noise and general sensory overload that was real combat.

He wasn't really afraid as such. His hulking _Dire Wolf_, though a big and inviting target, was also a very tough one, but the burden of command, the responsibility he felt to the men and women with whom he was fighting, created a knot of nervous tension in his stomach, which was making him slightly nauseous.

At maximum speed, the House Guard's medium and heavy units soon overtook their larger counterparts, forcing Precentor Marshall to issue an order to hold position, while the assault and command units caught up. An uncoordinated attack would do more harm than good. They continued to advance at the slowest units' top speed of 53km/h, each Level II separated from the next by a hundred metres, to cover as much ground as possible, while maintaining overlapping fields of fire and reduce the impact of enemy fire. However, such had been the ferocity of the Blakist onslaught that the main battle line was now a full kilometre north of the 201st's original position. Every second that ticked by as his _Dire Wolf_ had lumbered toward the battle had felt like an age to the Regent.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally came into sensor range, which only served to highlight how desperate the situation was. The carefully planned trap was broken. The flanks had dissolved under the Blakist onslaught. East and west of their position, his displays showed scattered blue dots, being driven towards the city perimeter by larger numbers of red squares. The Warriors' III-Bravo and Gamma were being hunted down and destroyed piecemeal. Only the centre of the battle line showed any sign of hope, with Toksvig's III-Alpha evidently proving tougher opposition.

The scout units crested one final hill, just under a kilometre ahead of the main force and began relaying more detailed sensor data to the units behind them, including enemy unit types. Sandringham's secondary display lit up with a multitude of targets and the _Achates'_ battle computer went to work identifying and prioritising them. A little over a minute later, the _Dire Wolf_ lumbered over the low ridge and William Sandringham got his first visual sight of the battle. What he saw made his blood turn to ice water in his veins, despite the uncomfortably warm cockpit.

The first light of dawn was just creeping over the horizon, tingeing the sky with a purple-orange hue. The stretch of open ground between the House Guard and the current battle line was strewn with the charred and shattered remains of dozens of battlemechs, tanks and armoured infantry. Even in the dim light, Sandringham's veteran's eye told him the Winged Warriors had paid dearly to hold the Blakists at bay for as long as they had.

From the looks of things, their part of the plan, at least, had worked. Whether they really had caught the Blakists by surprise, or whether they had suspected an ambush and simply didn't care, it was hard to tell. It mattered little. With all forces on both sides now committed to the battle, it would now be a straight fight to the death.

Over the command channel, he heard Precentor Marshall give the order to charge.

"Sceptre to all Guard units. This world…your home…and its people, needs you like never before. You are the finest warriors this side of the Periphery…so lets get in there and show those Blakist bastards the true meaning of fear!"

Sandringham resisted the urge to tell her to hold back. He would have preferred to get a little closer, for maximum impact, but the lead units were just closing to weapons range and the assault units would join them very soon. In any case, their comrades desperately needed their aid.

With a roar that made the radio link crackle with static, the Guards responded. Almost as one, they pushed their throttles to the stops and the mass of white, black and gold-painted mechs and tanks surged forward, barely managing to maintain unit cohesion as they advanced.

The Guards' arrival on the field, threw the Blakists into confusion and they were still redeploying to meet the new threat when the first salvoes from the Guards began finding their targets.

Sandringham watched in astonishment as Precentor Marshall's massive, heavily modified _Marauder II_ unleashed all three of its extended range particle cannon in a single volley. Using his HUD's zoom function he followed the man-made lightning bolts to their target and saw a Blakist _Hermes II_ almost disintegrate under the hellish onslaught, its pilot failing to eject as internal explosions tore its torso apart. The wrecked battlemech fell to the ground, still burning fiercely.

"Bloody hell – nice shot!" William called over the radio.

"The first of many…"

Katelyn's voice came back at him hoarse and dry and William knew she was suffering in her cockpit, the mech's heat sinks struggling to dissipate the ferocious heat build up.

Sandringham settled his crosshairs over an unfamiliar enemy mech and the thought crossed his mind that this was a very unusual force composition. Many of the assault-class machines were unrecognised by his battle computer, while most of the heavy, medium and light units appeared to be upgraded versions of old designs. His HUD's glowing green targeting reticule floated over what he immediately recognised as a _Highlander_. Independent of any conscious thought, his left forefinger squeezed the joystick's primary trigger, unleashing the _Achates'_ ERPPC. William's face was a picture of savage satisfaction, as the azure beam hit the target squarely, thanks to the assistance of the _Dire Wolf's_ retrofitted targeting computer. He waited a couple of seconds longer, until the Arrow IV system informed him of missile lock, before jamming his thumb down on the missile button, sending a flight of fifteen long range missiles at the _Highlander_. As far as he could tell, all of them impacted on the enemy machine, further whittling down the armour on its left arm and torso.

A threat indicator lit up on the main console, followed by a trilling electronic alarm, informing him he was being targeted. Sandringham checked his ECM was active and wrestled the _Dire Wolf's_ controls, throwing the 100-ton mech into a series of turns and sidesteps, as he advanced, hoping to throw the enemy pilot's aim.

Two large clouds billowed from the missile racks of one of the enemy mechs and the threat warning tone changed to a missile lock alarm. William cursed again and continued his evasive manoeuvres, while maxing the throttle. There was nowhere to hide and he would simply have to ride out the storm. Despite bracing himself, the impact of over twenty missiles, exploding against the _Achates'_ heavily armoured torso and arms, still shook Regent Sandringham in his command couch. Fortunately, according to the damage indicator, the loss of armour was nothing to worry about…yet.

* * *

**Archangel Invictus,**  
**Command Level II,**  
**66th Shadow Division,**  
**4km South of Westminster**

Precentor Omicron Alastor glanced at his radar display in surprise, as calls came in over the Division's radio net, warning of an attack from the rear. The screen showed several clusters of red squares, spread out along a one-kilometre front, rapidly advancing towards them. Already there were gaps in the 66th's C3i network, as mechs fell, one by one to the newcomers' massed firepower.

Rapidly assessing the tactical situation, with a speed and clarity of thought afforded him by his neural implants, he saw there was plenty of space on the flanks, thanks to Beta and Gamma's rapid annihilation of their enemy counterparts. His radio activated by thought alone, thanks to the direct neural interface and was already operating on the command frequency when he spoke.

"Command to Bravo and Gamma. Take up position on your nearest flank. We will meet these newcomers as they did us and crush them in a vice!"

He waited for acknowledgement from Precentors Barbas and Malthus before continuing.

"Command to Alpha, sitrep!"

The response from Precentor Sigma Foras took a little longer and when it came, it was tinged with frustration.

"The enemy's centre is holding. Despite repeated attempts, we have been unable to breach their lines so far. These Frails are proving to be remarkably resilient".

Alastor thought he detected the faintest hint of admiration in Foras' last sentence.

"I suggest you pray for divine intervention from the Blessed Blake, to assist you in your efforts. We have another enemy force inbound and I am taking True Believers and Cleansing Fire to intercept them".

Acknowledged. They will not hold much longer…our superiority will prevail".

* * *

**III-Alpha,**  
**201st Division,**  
**2km South of Westminster**

Demi-Precentor Agnetha Toksvig braced herself in her command couch, as her _Cerberus'_ right flank was hammered by a salvo of SRMs. Backing up and twisting to her right, her crosshairs settled on a bone-white _Thug_, its missile racks still smoking from the launch.

She was about to return fire when a cloud of smoke a flame shot across her field of view. The _Thug_ disappeared momentarily in the smoke. Agnetha twisted to her left to see Adept Skarsgaard's _Stalker_, tendrils of smoke still trailing from its short-range missile racks.

Before she could radio her thanks, a Blakist _Avatar_ appeared behind the _Stalker_. Instead, she simply fired her _Cerberus'_ twin gauss rifles, the heavy slugs shattering the armour and punching a hole in its right flank. Its pilot hastily withdrew and disappeared into the enemy's ranks.

"We're even now!" she called jokingly over the radio.

Morten didn't reply and she couldn't blame him, as there was precious little to laugh about. Instead his mech made a ponderous turn to the left and seconds later, twin azure beams shot from the particle cannon, mounted on the pod-shaped assault mech's flanks, savaging the nose and cockpit of an enemy _Champion_.

Toksvig turned her attention to a Blakist _Exterminator_, which had just fired what looked like a NARC pod at one of II-Alpha's _Battlemasters_. She selected her quartet of medium lasers and fired at it, managing to cause only superficial damage. The Coalition pilot managed a return shot with their ERPPC, carving an ugly slash in the _Exterminator's_ left torso armour, before the Blakist pilot maxed the throttle and the ridiculously fast 65-tonner disappeared from sight.

She was about to radio the _Battlemaster's_ pilot, but they'd already spotted the danger and were attempting to use the mech's massive articulated left hand to dislodge the pod. Too late…a salvo of forty long-range missiles homed in, fired by one of the three enemy _Bombardiers_, which were loitering on the fringes of the battle, obliterating the _Battlemaster's_ torso armour and punching through the chassis. Judging from the way the mech went down, its gyro must have been destroyed.

From her position, near the crest of a gentle slope, she saw a large gap suddenly open on the left flank, into which strode a _Legacy_, accompanies by a pair of _Avatars_. Armed with Ultra Class 10 autocannon, PPCs and lasers, they were cutting a swathe through II-Gamma and II-Epsilon's positions. Backing them up was a second _Legacy_, this one armed with twin LRM racks. As she watched, a _Wyvern_, a _Chameleon_ and a _Wraith_ fell in quick succession, the first with a severed leg, the second a destroyed gyro and the last with its cockpit obliterated.

Cries of alarm and warning calls began to flood The Aesir's general frequency, as pilots tried to fall back under the onslaught, with some measure of order. Monitoring the command channels, she heard unit leaders trying to organise their troops and conduct an orderly retreat. From what she was witnessing, it wasn't working.

"Aesir Lead to all units, pull back to the city perimeter by unit, starting with II-Epsilon. All other units provide covering fire. Acknowledge!"

She added the final command, to make sure her officers were listening and understood her orders. To her relief, they responded and some semblance of order was restored.

Toksvig switched to the Divisional command frequency.

"Aesir Lead to Mjolnir Lead, whats your status?"

There was no response.

"Aesir Lead to Neiflheim Lead, do you copy?"

Again there was no reply. She tried again.

"Aesir Lead to Midgard Lead, do you read me?"

After a short pause, her receiver crackled to life.

"Kristiansen here. If you want help, I'm afraid you're out of luck…the Blakists have got us on the run here", he rasped, sounding as though he was barely managing to maintain his own composure. "These bastards fight like demons!"

"Don't worry, I wasn't expecting any help. I'm just passing the order to fall back to the city. We can't hold this position any longer and we need to concentrate our forces".

"Copy that. What about the rest of the Division?"

"I can't get through to them. I'll keep trying, but it looks like we're on our own. I sent word for the House Guard to reinforce us, but theirs comms protocols mean they won't respond, so we won't know until they arrive".

"Acknowledged. We'll meet you at the city gates…if we live long enough…"


	42. Exercise In Futility

**House Guard Command Unit,**  
**3km South of Westminster**

"By the Unfinished Book – these Blakists are a lot tougher than I remember!"

William Sandringham nodded agreement, but said nothing, as he worked the _Achates' _controls furiously, sidestepping a _Legacy,_ which was training the barrels of its twin UAC10 autocannon on him. As he did so, the _Dire Wolf's_ right flank was seared by azure fire from the PPC of a _Myrmidon_, which then promptly drove off at flank speed before he could respond.

From the dry, cracked sound of Katelyn Marshall's voice, it was clear she was suffering badly in her overheating _Marauder II_, firing her weapons recklessly in an attempt to down as many enemy mechs as possible, before they could organise a counterattack.

"Kate, ease off, for pity's sake! Pull back for a few minutes and I'll cover you!"

As he spoke, he manoeuvred the _Achates_ in front of Marshall's mech and fired an extended burst from his dual large pulse lasers, badly chewing up an already-damaged enemy _Griffin_. A shot from his ERPPC to its cockpit finished it off and it crashed the ground, less than thirty metres away from them.

The attack left Sandringham gasping for breath and sweating profusely, as the cockpit temperature soared, the holographic gauge on his HUD nudging into the red zone. More enemy fire peppered the _Dire Wolf's_ torso, but he couldn't make out his attacker, now that the battle had degenerated into a melee.

"Thanks sir".

"You're welcome".

Just then the _Achates_ was hit from behind by an unseen assailant. William could feel the 100-ton mech become slightly unbalanced as it lost armour from the rear torso. He turned just in time to see Marshall fire her arm-mounted ERPPCs at the _White Flame_, which had tried to sneak up on them. The twin bolts of azure lightning destroyed the quad mech's front left leg actuator, seizing the limb and causing the machine to become unbalanced. The other front leg lost traction on the soft, muddy ground and it slid almost comically onto its underside, with its rear legs still propping up its back end. The pilot somehow managed to get it up on its three remaining legs and limped off into the distance.

"Now we're even", said Marshall, sounding a lot better than she had just a few minutes ago.

"For now…"

Just then, a shout from an unknown warrior came over the Guards' radio net.

"The Blakists are breaking! They're running away!"

"Sir, I think we've got the bastards on the run!" this came from Demi-Precentor Constantinou, who sounded excited, but not quite able to believe what she was seeing.

William checked his tactical display and sure enough, it showed enemy units breaking away, moving east and west. A warning bell went off in Sandringham's head and Katelyn Marshall echoed his thoughts.

"Its not like the Robes to just cut and run like that".

"Just what I was thinking, Kate. They're up to something".

Without thinking, William switched to the Guards' general frequency. "This is King to all Guards units, hold your positions. I repeat, hold your positions and do not pursue the enemy".

Realising what he'd done, he switched back to the command channel. "Sorry Kate – old habits die hard".

* * *

**Archangel Invictus,**  
**66th Shadow Division Command Unit,**  
**2km South of Westminster**

Precentor Omicron Alastor listened as Demi-Precentors Malthus and Barbas, commanders of True Believers III-Beta and Cleansing Fire III-Gamma, reported ready to engage.

Surveying the battlefield from the cockpit of his _Archangel_, he could see the newcomers, in their ridiculously gaudy paint scheme, driving into the rear of Hand of Blake III-Alpha, who were now sandwiched between them and the other Coalition unit, which was finally showing signs of breaking. Their lines now had gaps, which Foras' troops were exploiting.

He smiled. It was almost too easy. With a thought, he activated his radio.

"Engage".

With a single word, the two units moved in, from opposite sides of the battlefield, converging on the House Guards like the jaws of a vice. Despite Cleansing Fire III-Gamma having lost nearly a third of their strength during their battle with the Cavaliers, the Blakists' combined numbers were still far superior to the Coalition forces. The mechs marched with almost parade-ground precision, with the armour units rolling or hovering in close attendance. The battle-armoured infantry hitched rides on the closest mech or vehicle, eager to play their part in the enemy's destruction.

Today would be the day they captured Britannia and with it, the Coalition.

* * *

**Obsidian Spear III-Beta, Royal Guards,**  
**3km South of Westminster**

"Nice shooting, Pavel!"

"All that time on the range is really paying off, sir".

"Blake's Blood! What the hell was that?"

Demi-Precentor Andrzej Piotrowski gripped the handhold above his seat with all his strength as his _Zhukov_ was rocked by a series of impacts on its right flank. He'd just been congratulating his gunner on bringing down a Blakist _Blue Flame._ The quad mech was well armoured for a forty-five tonner, but still no match for the tank's paired AC10s, which comprised its main armament, when the latest attack had nearly lifted him off his feet and thrown him against the turret wall.

The driver quickly scanned his sensor readings.

"Over a dozen new enemy contacts coming in from our right flank, less than four hundred metres, lead units closing fast! We got hovertanks, tracks and mechs…a whole shitload of trouble, sir"

Piotrowski twisted in his command seat to scan the sensor readings. The multifunction displays gave him as complete a picture of the battlefield as the sensors could provide, at the touch of a button. What they showed caused him to involuntarily freeze in his seat. The Blakists were turning the tables on them and attempting to box them in, just as they had tried to do to the invaders.

He activated his radio, selecting the command channel. "Javelin to Command, you might want to check your tactical display. The Blakists are trying to play turnabout".

The _Zhukov_ executed a hard left turn, bouncing on its tracks over the churned up ground and Andrzej swore as his helmeted head banged against the turret wall. The curse became a stream of obscenities as more enemy fire impacted on the tank's left flank. A quick glance at the damage readout showed the armour was becoming perilously thin in places.

"They're driving us west…we need to find a weak point in their lines and break out!"

_House Guard Command Unit,_

_3km South of Westminster_

"Will, he's right…they're trying to box us in!"

Sandringham stared at his own tactical display, the information merely confirming Precentor Marshall's words.

"Dammit! Why didn't I see that coming? It was an obvious thing to do", William snapped angrily, banging his fist against the cockpit wall.

"Don't blame yourself, sir. We were all caught up with breaking through to the 201st".

"I still shouldn't have made the call – not without consulting you. I've put us in the worst position possible".

William's briefly flaring temper was already subsiding, replaced by guilt for having put his troops in such a precarious position.

"I could've countermanded you, sir, but it seemed like the right call at the time. They might well have led us on a wild goose chase".

"See any likely routes out of here?"

"Their western flank is the weaker, we should try and break out there. With any luck our efforts will ease the pressure on Toksvig's troops and let them go on the offensive".

"Sounds like a plan to me. I'll let you give the orders this time".

Marshall smiled briefly as she switched channels to the Guards' general frequency. "Sceptre to all units. We are going to drive west and attempt to break through the enemy's lines. If successful, we will continue in the hope of drawing them away from the 201st and their main objective".

She switched back to the command frequency. "Sceptre to Javelin, I need you to provide a rolling backstop for our push. Keep them off our backs until we can break through their lines".

Piotrowski allowed himself a quick glance through the _Zhukov's_ viewscope and quickly checked the tactical display before responding. "Javelin to Sceptre, we've got your back. Just find us a way out of here…and don't be too long about it!"


	43. Outmanouevred

**Archangel Invictus,**  
**66th Shadow Division Command Unit,**  
**2km South of Westminster**

Alastor allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he saw the enemy begin to pull back, regroup and begin moving west, evidently looking to punch through Cleansing Fire's thinner ranks. There was a chance they might succeed, so he decided to bring the Command Level II's firepower to bear.

"About frickin' time!" groused Precentor Swindelli, bringing his _Deva_ into formation, slightly behind and to the right of the _Archangel_.

The six Celestial class omnimechs descended from their partially concealed position on a low hill, just over half a kilometre from the fringes of the battle. Keeping in close formation, they headed in a northwesterly direction, until they circled in behind the rear elements of III-Gamma. Not before time either, as they were bearing the brunt of a furious enemy counterattack.

Alastor held back and waited until a gap opened up in Cleansing Fire's ranks. A gaudily painted enemy _Grim Reaper_ appeared and in a split second, the Manei Domini commander had targeted it. His flesh-and-bone right hand tightened around the primary joystick and his forefinger squeezed the main trigger, firing the _Archangel's_ Heavy PPC and Plasma Rifle. The _Reaper's_ right shoulder vapourised and the arm fell to the ground, unbalancing the smaller mech, almost causing it to fall over. Alastor felt the heat spike in his cockpit, but he barely flinched, instead seeking out another House Guard mech.

His next victim was a _Clint_. Throttling up to maximum speed, he closed to point blank range and raised the _Archangel's_ right arm. The Guard pilot fired an alpha strike in desperation, the _Clint's_ ERPPC burning an ugly scar across the Celestial class omnimech's torso, while the paired medium lasers caused little more than cosmetic damage. Alastor tapped a button on the joystick with his pinkie finger to deploy the battle blade. His cybernetic left arm, worked the arm controls and with a savage punch, the six foot titanium blade ploughed straight into the medium mech's cockpit, followed by the huge articulated fist, which nearly obliterated the _Clint's_ head section. He had to jerk the arm several times to free it from the wreckage, the Guard mech falling to the ground like so much junk as he did so.

Precentor Swindelli watched open-mouthed at the savagery of Alastor's attacks.

The other Celestials took their cue to join in. The _Seraph_ to his right opened up with its UAC10, Snub Nose PPC and Streak SRMs, savaging an _Enfield_. The Guard mech somehow managed to stay upright and the pilot fired its LB-10X autocannon and large laser in reply, the solid slug and beam weapon combining to remove a chunk of the Blakist mech's torso armour. The _Grigori_ to his left unleashed a volley of twenty MRMs from its huge arm launcher, blitzing a _Centurion_ and knocking it to the ground. The _Grigori's_ pilot followed up with a salvo of Streak SRMs, which found the Guard mech's LRM ammo bin. The resulting explosions destroyed most of the mech's torso.

The missile lock alarm suddenly sounded in his cockpit, with a corresponding warning light on his console. Swindelli just had time to brace himself, before the _Deva_ was hit by a volley of LRMs. The 70-ton mech rode out the storm, sustaining moderate armour damage across its torso and arms. Searching for his attacker, he saw a _Dervish_, hanging a good few hundred metres back from the main battle line, its launcher still smoking. Swindelli dropped his crosshairs over it and tracked it, even as it began to move to find a new firing position. He tied all 3 of his Light PPCs and his Gauss Rifle to the main trigger and squeezed. Not wishing to kill the pilot, he aimed low and all four weapons struck the _Dervish's_ left hip, completely destroying it. The Guard mech went down hard and did not move again.

* * *

**Cerberus MR-Z7,**  
**Regent's Rangers III-Alpha,**  
**2km Southwest of Westminster**

Demi-Precentor Kristina Constantinou felt the first pangs of fear creep into her mind, as she listened to the frantic cries over the radio net. Just as it had looked they were on the verge of breaking through, the Blakists had stopped their charge dead in its tracks and were now beginning to push the House Guard back. Six strange-looking mechs, painted in an eye-catching crimson, with gold trim, had appeared, seemingly from nowhere, among the ranks of the tan-and-white enemy and opened fire with devastating effect. A few hundred metres in front of her, she had seen four mechs from II-Delta either destroyed or crippled and heard ejection warnings from two other pilots. In a matter of minutes, she'd lost an entire Level II.

Apparently taking heart from the new arrivals, the Blakist force rallied and fought back with renewed ferocity. Another barrage of lasers, particle cannon and missiles peppered the front ranks of the Regent's Rangers, forcing her troops to slow down as they braced their mechs against the onslaught. The breakout charge lost momentum and as the Blakists reorganised their lines, their escape route vanished.

She activated her radio, selecting the command frequency. "They've reinforced their western flank to cut off our advance. Any other ideas?"

Marshall took a moment to catch her breath and focus as her _Marauder II_ sustained another long-range barrage from Blakist mechs, whose presence she was only aware of thanks to her sensor displays. The heat level in her cockpit had spiked yet again, after dispatching a _Tempest_ and an _Anvil_. Her armour was getting dangerously thin in places, although she was beginning to think that if the Blakists didn't get her, she would probably die anyway from heat exhaustion.

"I think our only chance is to try and link up with the 201st. We have to fight our way north. It'll mean dragging those Blakist bastards with us and bringing them closer to Westminster, but I don't see we have much choice".

Sandringham frowned as he listened in, but no alternative suggested itself. They stood a better chance fighting together, rather than separately and being destroyed piecemeal.

"No better ideas here Kate. Lets head north and link up with Toksvig and her troops".

One more command was all that was needed to get the House Guards heading north at the maximum speed possible, while maintaining unit cohesion, in order to lay down as much concentrated firepower as possible, to keep the Blakists at bay.

* * *

**Obsidian Spear III-Beta, House Guards,**  
**3km South of Westminster**

Andrezj Piotrowski was coming to much the same conclusion when the order came through. He had just passed the order to his troops when the _Zukhov_ was rocked by a tremendous impact and turned violently to the left. The driver gunned the engine and tried engaging the left and right tracks alternately. The tank shook and shuddered but refused move.

"She's stuck sir – think that last hit took out a track".

Just as he said that another huge impact rocked the tank, causing it to slowly roll onto its side. Piotrowski and the crew hung from their harnesses in stunned silence, battered and bruised, expecting another shot or a mech's foot or fist to plunge though the hull at any moment. The fatal blow failed to materialise.

"Okay people – abandon ship!" Andrezj barked over the radio.

He began undoing his harness as fast as his shaking hands allowed him to. The rest of the crew followed suit and followed him out of the turret hatch, while the driver scrambled out of the forward hull hatch. Taking a moment to collect themselves, they stared open-mouthed at the carnage that lay all around them, as far as the eye could see. The shattered remains of mechs, vehicles and aircraft were strewn across the landscape, like the broken toys of an angry god.

Such had been the ferocity of the Blakist assault that the battle had already left them behind. Looking behind them, Piotrowski and his crew felt as though they'd taken a collective punch in the gut, as they saw the broken and burning remains of what looked like over half of III-Bravo. The Obsidian Spear tankers had paid a heavy price to protect the House Guard's retreat. Those that had survived were still fighting, using hit and run tactics to harass the Blakists' flanks. Andrezj offered up silent prayer to Blake's spirit for their safe return. With no communications equipment, his part in the battle was over. He gestured to the others.

"Come on, lets see if anyone else made it out".

* * *

**Cerberus MR-Z7,**  
**Regent's Rangers III-Alpha,**  
**1km Southwest of Westminster**

"Kristina! Girl are you a sight for sore eyes!"

Constantinou gave a start as her radio earpiece sprang unexpectedly to life. Making an awkward half-turn to her left and craning her neck so she could look out the side of her cockpit, she could just make out a cluster of white and sky blue Winged Warrior mechs, besieged by a far larger number of tan and white Blakist mechs, under a kilometre northeast of her.

"Aggie!" she responded, immediately recognising Toksvig's Scandianvian-accented voice.

"Hang in there girl, we're coming for you".

Just then her _Cerberus_ was struck by two heavy blows to its right leg. When she tried to take another step, there was a screeching, grinding noise and the ninety-five ton machine lurched unsteadily, forcing her to throttle back to avoid losing balance.

"Leg damage. Reverse disabled", came the unwelcome audio warning.

A cursory glance at her damage readout, showed the right leg as greyed out, meaning all armour protection had been stripped away. Below the outline diagram of her mech, another indicator flashed, confirming the leg actuator was damaged.

More shots struck the back of her mech, before she was able to wrestle it around to confront her attacker. She found herself facing a battle-scarred _King Crab_, the massive barrels of its twin LB-20X autocannon still smoking. It stood less than two hundred metres from her. Even as she lined up her crosshairs on its torso, it unleashed a flight of SRMs and a ruby large laser. The _Cerberus_ seemed to shrug off this follow up attack, although her damage display told her half her medium pulse lasers were now inoperative.

Constantinou's targeting crosshairs glowed gold and her index finger tightened on the joystick's primary trigger, unleashing her twin gauss rifles. A quarter of a ton of nickel ferrous metal, travelling at hypersonic speed impacted on the Blakist mech's low, wide torso, smashing through its remaining armour and gutting the internals. She watched with satisfaction as its legs gave way and the giant machine slowly crashed to the ground like a toppled water tower. A snarl of triumph had barely escaped her lips when she was shaken in her command couch, as if by an earthquake.

"Warning: damage critical. ECM disabled", came unemotional voice of the main computer.

On the damage display her right torso and arm flashed red, indicating the _Cerberus_ couldn't take much more punishment. Wisps of black smoke drifted up past the cockpit, telling her somewhere underneath her, something was on fire.

Fighting the sluggish controls, bringing her crippled mech around to face her foe, she found herself confronted by a pair of _Grand Crusaders_, one sporting twin missile racks, the other a pair of large autocannon. According to her HUD readout they were less than five hundred metres away and closing rapidly.

The _Crusader_ with the missile racks disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame as it opened fire. She heard the trill of the missile launch warning, followed by the faint whine of her AMS as it strove to shoot down the inbound projectiles. The whining stopped.

"Ammo depleted", chimed the computer.

Checking her HUD's weapons display, she saw only had a few rounds left for her gauss rifles anyway. There was no way she'd be able to take on these monsters on her own.

"Ranger Two to any unit, request immediate assistance", she called out of hope more than expectation.

She dropped her crosshairs over the autocannon-armed _Crusader_, judging it to be the more immediate threat and fired again. She had the satisfaction of seeing her attack obliterate its left arm, leaving just a stump, dangling uselessly below the shoulder joint. It fired its other weapon, striking her savaged right arm. On the HUD's weapon list, the gauss rifle greyed out, indicating it was inoperative.

The missile alarm sounded again as the other _Crusader_ launched another salvo. In a split second, Kristina decided she'd done as much as she could. Bunching herself up in her command couch, bracing her back and neck, she punched the eject button. The cockpit canopy blew out, moments before rockets built into the base of the seat ignited, propelling her upwards and out of her doomed mech. She was catapulted over three hundred feet into the sky, before another explosive charge deployed the parafoil, allowing the battered and dazed Constantinou to steer herself away from the battle.

Half a kilometre away, Precentor Marshall had heard Constantinou's call for help, but had been too busy getting herself out of trouble to even order any units to go to her aid. She braced herself moments before the massive _Marauder II_ hit the ground with a jolt. She was finding out the hard way that, while it was a lethal fire support mech when it had time and space to manoeuvre, it was at a serious disadvantage in a meleé situation. Despite its heavy armour, it had taken a fearful pounding from the Blakists and she'd already lost a number of heat sinks, which severely restricted her combat capability. It was getting to the point that firing just two of her trio of ERPPCs at once was causing her to overheat. Using her jump jets on top of that, was turning her cockpit into a sauna.

Using the few precious seconds respite her jump had earned her, to cool off and collect herself, she watched as William Sandringham fought to free himself from an encirclement of Blakist mechs. His _Dire Wolf_ unleashed a flurry of pulse laser fire at a _Battlemaster_, following up with a bolt from his extended range particle cannon. The Blakist returned the compliment, savaging the Regent's mech with its twin ERPPS and a salvo of SRMs.

Lancing at her temperature gauge, she was it had fallen back into the green. Dropping her crosshairs over the Battlemaster, she fired her arm-mounted particle cannon at it, destroying its left arm. The Blakist seemed surprised by the attack and backed away, giving Sandringham the opening he needed. Turning his mech to face his remaining attackers, he loosed off a flight of LRMs at the farthest mech – a _Legacy_, while firing off volleys from his pulse lasers at the _Vanquisher_ and _Thug_ either side of it, all the while backing away towards Precentor Marshall.

A _Warhammer_, _Marauder_ and _War Dog_, wearing the colours of the Rangers, broke off from their engagements, to provide covering fire. Katelyn added her support, rotating fire of all three of her particle cannon, which still caused her heat to rise into the yellow on the gauge and made her cockpit uncomfortably hot.

"Katelyn, fall back to the city and regroup by unit inside the gates", called Sandringham, sounding exhausted. The strain of combat was evidently taking its toll on the Regent.

"We need to shorten our lines and consolidate our forces, otherwise these bastards will just tear us apart piecemeal", Sandringham continued. "If they have to chase us into the city, they'll have to split up to hunt us down…which may work to our advantage".

"Agreed, sir", Marshall replied after taking a second to think about it.

They were getting overrun by the Blakists out in the open. She personally hated urban combat, as it restricted mechs' movements, but it was preferable to the alternative.

She selected a general frequency that could be heard by all Coalition units. "This is Ranger Actual to all Coalition units, fall back to the city and regroup by unit. Try to stick to the major thoroughfares, but use the back streets if you have to".

She turned her _Marauder II_ around, preparing to make a short dash, before turning around to face their pursuers. To her left and right, she saw the rest of the Rangers doing likewise.

"Precentor Marshall, I have ordered my forces into the city, but the Blakists are right on top of us, we have no time to regroup. Request immediate assis…"

Katelyn's blood went cold on hearing the radio message from 201st Division's acting commander cut off mid sentence.

"Precentor Toksvig, we're on our way. Do you copy? Agnetha, can you hear me? Please respond!"

Further attempts to reach her were cut off by a panicked voice on the general frequency.

"This is Adept Garven Ferrill to anyone listening on this frequency. Demi-Precentor Toksvig is down! The Blakists are driving us into the city. There are too many…we cannot hold!"

"Adept Ferrill…Garven…can you hear me?"

Again her radio remained silent, save for the odd crackle of static.

"Shit!" It seemed clear the 201st had finally broken and were now being routed by the Blakists.

Marshall switched to the command channel. "Sir, we need to move quickly. The Blakists have broken the 201st and we no longer have anyone watching our backs".

"Damn. Copy that".

Worryingly, the Regent's response lacked any real vehemence. He sounded like a man out of ideas, resigned to his fate.

Even as he continued to manoeuvre and trade fire with the leading Blakist elements, Sandringham ran through a list of possible options. It didn't take long.

The enemy was too close to even try to make for the spaceport and effect an escape. If they tried to break contact and head for the hills, it was only a matter of time before they were discovered. Neither the House Guard's Divisional HQ or the palace possessed adequate defences to withstand an assault on this scale, leaving them without a safe haven they could bolt to and try to hold out until help came.

Scanning his surroundings, the Westminster city limits were just a few hundred metres to his south. A little farther away to his north were the leading Blakist units. Already the _Achates_ was taking fire from them. He was about to order Precentor Marshall to send their remaining forces into the city, when a line of mechs slowly emerged from between the nearest buildings, forming a cordon and blocking their only escape route. They were not the blue and white of the Winged Warriors, but the various white, grey and tan colours of the 66th Shadow Division.

That was it. The fight was over. There was nowhere left to run and continuing to fight would just mean more people dying pointlessly. Numbly, hardly thinking about it, Sandringham switched his radio to an open, unencrypted frequency.

"This is Regent William Sandringham to the commander of the Word of Blake forces. I wish to negotiate terms of surrender. The world of Britannia is yours. I will order my forces to stand down, if you will guarantee their fair and humane treatment".

The voice that responded made his blood run cold. Not the cold, emotionless tone he expected from a Manei Domini. In some ways it was worse.

"Well, howdy there Will. Long time no see and all that. You tell your boys and girls to park their butts and I'll be with you shortly... I've been waiting a long time for this".


	44. Intervention

**Archangel Invictus,**  
**66th Shadow Division Command Unit,**  
**1km South of Westminster**

Precentor Alastor listened, with growing anger, to Swindelli's casual acceptance of the Coalition surrender. He had been formulating a more formal response when the other man had butted in and stolen his moment of victory. He knew it shouldn't bother him, but everything Swindelli did, seemed calculated to infuriate him. He switched his radio to the command frequency.

"Precentor Swindelli!" he barked. "I will not tolerate your continued interference in this operation. I speak for my troops – not you!"

In the privacy of his _Deva's_ cockpit, Swindelli rolled his eyes. At first he'd found the Manei Domini commander's "stuffed shirt" personality rather amusing and had enjoyed taking every opportunity to wind the man up. Now, though, it was becoming tiresome.

"Precentor Alastor, Regent Sandringham offered his surrender. We've won. What is there to discuss?"

"The Coalition forces still represent a significant threat. Our mission was to bring the Coalition under our control and eliminating all their military assets will ensure we achieve that".

"They have offered their surrender – they are no longer a threat".

"I disagree. We should destroy them".

"Blake's blood! They've ceased fire! And in case you'd forgotten, one of our mission objectives was to ensure the Regent's survival. Our superiors deem him necessary to our future Periphery operations".

"I had not forgotten. Eliminating their forces will not compromise the mission objectives. We are the Hand of the Master and we do His will".

"Look to your right, Alastor".

The Manei Domini Precentor glanced out of his cockpit to find Swindelli had trained his _Deva's_ weapons on him. The human part of his face took on a quizzical expression.

"You intend to fire on me?"

The question carried no fear or anger. If anything Alastor sounded faintly amused.

"Only if you force me to".

"Do you really believe for one moment a _frail_ such as yourself has a hope of defeating me?"

"Hey, if this was hand to hand combat I might be worried, but in a mech I give myself decent odds. I have an alpha strike aimed at your cockpit. Use that superior brain of yours to compute the odds of you surviving that".

"You do realise my troops would destroy you in a matter of moments if you killed me?"

"Oh, I know they'd try. Again, I give myself decent odds on figuring something out. And you'd still be dead".

There was a prolonged pause, during which Swindelli figured the Manei Domini Precentor was mulling over his options.

"Why do you insist on protecting these heretics?"

"I'm not particularly interested in protecting them. I just don't believe in senseless slaughter".

"Senseless slaughter? I would call the elimination of potential threats prudent".

"Most people would call the destruction of people who have surrendered inhumane. Cold-blooded murder. Now tell your troops to stand down".

Glancing out of his cockpit, he could see the rest of the Shadow Division mechs, forming up on either side of them, ready to close for the kill. The motley assortment of Coalition units, pinned against the rank of Blakist mechs that had driven into the city, looked very vulnerable. Any further fighting would result in a bloodbath.

Alastor laughed. A chilling sound, as he used his vocal implants to add a subtle electronic, resonant effect.

"You _frails_ do amuse me, with your twisted ideals of honour and nobility. You blithely kill tens of thousands of people in the name of conquest and liberation, yet balk at the idea of killing a few hundred to spare further bloodshed".

Another pause. "Very well, we will spare these heretics, but know this. You will be among the first to die if there is any attempt at treachery on their part".

Swindelli deactivated his radio before heaving a sigh of relief, as he watched the mechs around them power down. The ones already in the city, retreated into the shadows cast by the taller buildings, as the sun approached its zenith in the late autumn sky. The early morning mist and cloud cover had all but vanished. He powered down his own mech, unstrapped himself, unplugged his neurohelmet and cooling vest, before sliding into the cramped space behind the command couch, where he retrieved his clothing from the small locker. Despite the sun, it still looked chilly out there and he was glad he'd packed cold-weather gear.

* * *

**OCS** _Alexander  
_**Geosynchronous Orbit,**  
**Chard, Britannia System,  
Britannic Coalition**  
**October 10, 3068**

"Skipper, latest comms intercept indicates Coalition forces surrendering to the Blakists on Britannia!"

Captain Damien Alder thumped the command console with the heel of his palm. "Dammit! They had their best units there".

"Aye sir, but they were up against that Blakist Shadow Division we picked up a few days ago".

"Looks like intervention has become unavoidable, sir", his XO, Commander Sarah Travers, said quietly.

"Whats the latest from the Nike?"

"Coalition reinforcements arrived in system and executed a hot-drop on Wellington. Communications suggest the relief effort was a success. Blakist naval assets still in system, but are taking no further action at this time. First Battalion are sitting tight for now".

"Okay, what about the Constantine?"

"The Templars made planet fall on St Helens unopposed, but only just beat the Blakists to the punch. Less than an hour later, one of their ships jumped in system and offloaded enough dropships for an entire Division. The Knights are preparing for defence of the capital, but it looks like things could get messy there. Third Battalion are gearing up for a hot drop the moment the Colonel gives the order".

"Sounds like they could get to see some action. Is Lieutenant-Colonel Koulikov aware of the situation here?"

"Yes, sir. The micro-satellite network we deployed is relaying Coalition and Blakist comms intercepts, as well as our own communications, between all our vessels".

"Sir, incoming transmission from the Nike, its Colonel Koulikov, audio only", called the communications officer.

"Put him though", Alder said, indicating his command console.

"Captain Alder, this is Lieutenant Colonel Koulikov. I am ordering Second Battalion into Britannia. We cannot allow the Word of Blake to establish a foothold in the Coalition. Major Baker will be paying you a visit shortly to go through the deployment with you".

"Acknowledged Colonel. We will prepare for transit to Britannia and assume action stations".

"Very well Captain. I understand the Blakists still have two warships in system. Do you have any idea how you will deal with them?"

"Not as yet Colonel. I'm hoping we can burn in hard and fast, unload Second Battalion and then burn out again, before things get too messy. I expect we'll take some hits, but we should be able to outrun them".

Then an idea struck Alder. "We'll contact the Churchill. She's in laying low in the Wellington system right now, but if she can make a jump here, timed to coincide with our insertion run, maybe we can buy more time for your guys and even give those buggers some serious grief".

"Good thinking. I'll leave you to make the necessary arrangements. Good luck and god speed".


	45. Aftermath

**Albion Palace,**  
**50km north west of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

The armoured convoy turned off the road and onto the wide gravel strip that served as the main route into the palace grounds. The route was lined on either side by trees, beyond which the wide open grounds sprawled, dotted with small stands of trees, bushes and flower beds, with a small number of gazebos thrown in for good measure. The small stream that flowed through the grounds fed a number of water features, including fountains and a miniature waterfall.

The Palace itself was an imposing structure. Its wide, open grounds, surrounded by high ferrocrete walls, complete with battlements and weapon emplacements, provided a heavily fortified enclosure for the buildings, whose upper storeys could be seen above the defences. What was visible of the main building looked like a rather elegant office block, with a columned, ancient Greek style front. Behind it stood what looked like a medieval castle keep, its battlemented roofline matching the walls. Above it, a flag bearing the golden gryphon of the Coalition, against a blue-black, star-studded background, fluttered in a brisk breeze.

"Nice pad. Use it often?" Swindelli asked, staring out of the _Swiftwind's_ plexiglass windows, taking in his surroundings.

"Mostly for hosting receptions and the odd vacation when I want some peace and quiet", Sandringham replied curtly.

"Of course, its not really my style. I'd go for something a little less elaborate - too fancy for my tastes".

"Style and taste are all subjective. For the most part, you learn to make do with what you have, out here in the sticks. We've managed to do in a little over a decade, what its taken most Periphery states centuries to achieve, if only in pockets here and there on the planet".

"I'm glad you like it – 'cause you're going to be spending a lot of time here". Swindelli grinned unpleasantly.

The Level II of tanks accompanying them stopped outside the walls, while the cars and troop carriers continued inside to the palace courtyard. Without the guard force and staff that could normally be seen around the grounds when the Regent was in residence, the place seemed eerily vacant.

As part of the terms of surrender, Sandringham had relinquished access codes as and when necessary, allowing the Blakists to deactivate the defences and override the security measures. He'd briefly thought about giving their captors fake codes, but hadn't relished the thought of being shot at by his own automated defence systems. Not that he minded risking his own life, but in the carriers behind him were Katelyn Marshall and dozens of other prisoners.

The convoy rolled to a halt. Sandringham noted the APCs took up flanking positions around the vehicles carrying the prisoners.

'_Do they really expect us to try something, here and now?'_ he wondered.

He knew from experience that Blakists tended to be paranoid, but this seemed extreme, even for them. He exited the scout car, which was a variant that had been created as a command car, at gunpoint, under the watchful eyes, both human and electronic, of their guards. Snatching a backward glance, he saw Marshall and a gaggle of other prisoners, wearing a mix of Royal Guard and Winged Warrior uniforms, exiting the trucks that had followed them in.

More Blakist soldiers were already entering the codes for the main door, apparently keen to ensure a smooth transit from the cars to the Palace for their commander. He could understand why. Precentor Alastor's mere presence was enough to inspire a mixture of awe and fear. It was Sandringham's first encounter with the Manei Domini and during the ride in, he'd been unable to stop himself glancing at the man-machines. The gleaming metal prosthetic limbs, which protruded from their scarlet and gold jumpsuits, or robes in the case of the officers, were unsettling enough, but the facial modifications, mainly eyes but in some cases jaws as well, made them seem like nightmarish creations from a sci-fi holovid.

As far as he could tell, Alastor had just the one artificial limb, his left arm, but the right side of his face had been replaced, reconstructed from a dark grey metal with a dull sheen. Where his right eye had been, a biomechanical one now resided, its lens giving off a malevolent blue glow. He also seemed able to change his voice at will, altering its pitch, tone and other characteristics, as well as adding an array of effects, the way a child's toy microphone might.

Alastor and Swindelli flanked him during the short walk to the Palace, neither saying a word. Sandringham got the feeling the pair were not happy about working together. There was a short pause while they waited for a soldier to hack into a computer terminal in the entrance hall. A three-dimensional schematic of the palace's floors came up, rotating slowly to show the location of each room.

"Take the prisoners there", said Alastor, indicating the large dining hall on the first floor, "And organise a guard detail".

The soldier made a fist and put his arm across his chest in salute. "Blake's Will be done!"

He turned to the Regent, "You will be coming with us. I have an important task for you".

He pointed at two more soldiers and indicated Sandringham. "Escort him to the function room on the first floor".

He beckoned to another pair of soldiers, weapons slung across their backs, who were carrying a holovid camera and other recording paraphernalia. "Follow them and set up your equipment".

"What do you want me to do?" demanded Sandringham.

Alastor smiled, "You are going to record a message for me…one that will be broadcast to every world of the Coalition. In time, every world of the Periphery will hear it. You are going to tell everyone what has happened here and the futility of resisting Blake's Divine Will. We will of course edit it to include suitable footage, to make sure the message gets across".

"And if I refuse?"

The Manei Domini's smile vanished, "I will begin executing the prisoners, one at a time, until you comply".

* * *

**Dropship** _Sussex  
_**Approach Vector, Britannia**

"Any sign they know we're here yet?"

"None, sir", the co-pilot replied. "No scans or targeting sensors directed at us".

"I should bloody well hope not either", said the pilot, her eyes flicking between the viewscreen and the console in front of her, "Given how hard it was to procure these things in the first place, not to mention the amount of hours we've clocked up on practice runs".

Major Jeff Baker, commander of Second Battalion, 1st Regiment of the Dinochrome Brigade, resisted the urge to lean over the flight crew's shoulders and tried to concentrate on reviewing the mission profile. The Dinochrome Brigade was the OCDF's most elite unit and that applied to the dropship crews as much as it did the troops. Specialising in covert operations, this insertion ought to be about as routine as things ever got for the Dinos.

The _Sussex_ was the lead ship in a quartet flying in a diamond formation, just a few kilometres apart. What made them special, apart from being brand new _Blackhawk_ models, was their stealth armour. Taking the now widespread Capellan technology, originally applied to suits of battle armour, battlemechs and aerospace fighters, OC engineers had taken the concept to new levels and created the first ever stealth dropships. These aerodyne craft, besides packing incredible amounts of weaponry, had proven almost impossible to spot on long-range scans, even using the most advanced sensors in the OCDF's arsenal.

The close formation allowed the craft to be enveloped in an ECM bubble which, should they be detected, would give them vital extra minutes to evade attack.

"How about the others?" Baker queried.

"The Arundel, Newhaven and Gosport are maintaining formation. All systems green - commencing insertion run".

The formation entered into orbit around the far side of Britannia. In a matter of minutes, they would swing around to where the two Word of Blake warships were holding station, before beginning their descent towards the planetary capital.

Approaching detection range. Hope our naval support shows up on time or this could be a very short mission".


	46. Smuggler's Run

**_OCS_ Alexander,_  
Approach Vector, Britannia_**

"Range to target 200,000km, closing fast. Those Blakists should be picking us up any time now", called the sensor operator.

"Are they making any move to intercept the dropships?" asked Captain Patrick Travers.

"No ma'am…wait, I'm reading a spatial distortion, bearing two eight seven, range 250,000km!"

* * *

**_BGS_ Bismarck,_  
Geosynchronous Orbit, Britannia_**

"Jump signature! Bearing two seven zero, range 50,000km".

The sensor operator's call jerked Demi-Precentor Truscott out of a daydream. He looked around in a state of mild bemusement as the report continued.

"Size of distortion field indicates inbound vessel is probably a destroyer…Essex class".

Truscott relaxed and gave a small laugh. An Essex class destroyer was no threat to a McKenna battleship and a Potemkin cruiser.

I'm picking up another contact at range, coming from the far side of the planet. Positive ID on this one – another Essex class destroyer, moving fast!"

"What in Blake's name…?"

Truscott was more perplexed than worried. Two destroyers were no match for the combined might of the _Righteous Fury_ and the _Bismarck_.

"Red Alert - all hands to battle stations. Send word to the _Fury_ and copy our sensor data across".

It was possibly the most casual call to action ever given.

* * *

**_OCS_ Churchill,_  
Pirate Point Gamma IV, Britannia System_**

"Bloody hell, ma'am – we cut this one a little too close for my liking!", said Commander Sean Brett, staring anxiously at the pair of monstrous warships that had appeared on the main viewscreen, the moment they'd emerged from their jump.

"I know what you mean Number Two, but we had to cut it fine to gain the element of surprise", replied Captain Kristin Thomas tersely, feeling as anxious as her XO, but maintaining a poker face.

"Well ma'am, I hope they're surprised".

Thomas forced a smile at her XO, before barking orders to the helmsman.

"Course zero nine five, flank speed!"

There was no need to call for battle stations. That order had been given before the jump.

* * *

**_OCS_ Alexander,_  
Approach Vector, Britannia_**

"Sir, it's the Churchill!", called the sensor operator.

"Talk about good timing!" said Travers admiringly.

"A little too good actually, I'd have liked us to be closer", Alder replied, turning to the helmsman.

"Okay, time to drop off our passengers. As soon as they're clear, go to flank speed and alter course to three five five. We don't want to get too close to those bastards".

* * *

**_BGS_ Bismarck,_  
Geosynchronous Orbit, Britannia_**

"Launch fighters!"

"Sorry sir, they're down for refit and rearming".

"What – all of them?"

"Yes sir. We took heavy losses against the Hood. Most of the ones that came back were pretty badly mauled. Fighter Control says we could maybe send a Level II out in the next ten or fifteen minutes…"

"Forget it – it'll all be over by then!"

Truscott turned to the comms officer, "Call the Fury and see if she can put up a fighter screen".

There was a delay of a few moments while confirmation was made, "Sir, the Fury is having problems with her launch systems and will be unable to provide fighter cover".

"Fine", sighed Truscott, "We will do this the old-fashioned way".

* * *

**_OCS_ Alexander,_  
Britannia System_**

"Target Alpha in range", called the sensor operator.

"Fire when ready", commanded Captain Alder.

"Forward launchers firing. Missiles away", confirmed the weapons officer.

_OCS_ Churchill

_Approach Vector, Britannia_

"Lead ship in range".

"Very well. Weapons, fire when ready".

"Aye ma'am. Starboard launchers firing…missiles away!"

* * *

**_Dropship_ Sussex_,  
Approach Vector, Britannia_**

"How are we doing?" asked Major Baker, beginning to regret having had so much coffee while aboard the _Alexander_. He was wired and slightly jittery, as usual before an operation and the dropship's cramped confines denied him room to pace around to work off his nerves.

"Threat boards are clear Major", the pilot replied patiently. "If anyone knows we're here, they're not letting on.

"Alexander and Churchill report they are engaging the Blakists!" said the comms officer nervously.

"God be with you", said Baker quietly.

"Beginning descent, make sure you're strapped in tight, boys and girls", said the pilot.

The co-pilot let everyone else know. "Flight deck to all crew. Commencing insertion. All personnel to secure any loose equipment as well as themselves. We're coming in hotter than normal and this could get bumpy".

She wasn't kidding. The dropship hit Britannia's upper atmosphere and began to vibrate as it encountered air resistance. The vibration became a violent shuddering as the descent continued and through the main viewscreen he could see flames ignite around the nose, as friction heated the air to combustion point. Both Captain Davenport and her co-pilot were having to fight the controls to keep the ship on course. For the first time since he'd joined the OCDF Special Forces, Major Jeff Baker began to worry he might be airsick and embarrass himself in front of the flight crew for good measure.

* * *

**_BGS_ Bismarck,_  
Geosynchronous Orbit, Britannia_**

"The audacity of those heretics", said Truscott in wonderment, as the tactical officer reported the inbound enemy missiles.

The _McKenna's_ automated AMS systems would deal with most of them. Her heavy armour would absorb the damage from the rest.

"Helm, match the course of the nearest enemy ship. "Weapons, fire at will! Teach them the price of interfering with Blake's divine Will".

The rumbling of the ship's engines grew louder, as the monstrous battleship increased speed. The deck tilted as the helmsman matched the course of the nearest destroyer, presenting the Bismarck's broadside to it. There was a whining and humming as the enormous generators and capacitors that powered her main armament of heavy naval PPCs, charged the weapons.

The actual firing was something of an anticlimax, although the two dozen broad azure lances that reached out across the gulf of space, were quite a sight to behold. Even more so was the damage they wrought on the smaller ship.

* * *

**_OCS_ Churchill,_  
Approach Vector, Britannia_**

"Oh, shit – she's opening fire! Brace for impact!"

Klaxons sounded through out the ship as the weapons officer responded to Captain Thomas' order and hit the alarm button.

Although energy weapons had no physical impact, the loss of mass of what they destroyed, created a similar, destabilising effect - especially if they caused ammunition to detonate.

The _Churchill_ rolled slowly to port, as her starboard side was stripped of armour. Through the hull the dull rumble of explosions could be heard.

"Damage report!" snapped Thomas.

"Extensive loss of starboard armour, but no breaches", replied the engineering officer tersely.

"What were those explosions?"

"Electrical overloads and damage to secondary and tertiary control systems reported on decks twelve through fifteen. No primary systems affected".

"Comms, get me the Alexander!"

Moments later, Captain Alder's voice came over the radio, sounding harassed, "Alder here, what's the story?"

"We've taken heavy damage from the McKenna and could use some back-up".

"No can do I'm afraid. We're in the same boat, if you'll pardon the pun. That Potemkin is armed to the teeth".

"Whats the latest on those dropships?"

There was a few moments' pause. "According to Comms, the Sussex just sent a final transmission, saying they were clear and going for the insertion".

"Then may I suggest we get the hell out of here, while we still have ships to command?"

"That's the best idea I've heard all day. Reverse course, and make for the nadir jump point at flank speed. We may be outgunned, but at least we can outrun those buggers!"


	47. Insertion

**_Dinochrome LZ,  
40km south east of Westminster,  
Britannia_**

Back on terra firm and strapped into his mech's cockpit, Major Jeff Baker was feeling much happier. His professional pride was also intact, having managed not to lose his lunch on the ride in.

His respect for the flight crews had grown immeasurably. Not only had they arrived planetside quickly and unscathed, but they'd done it hugging the coastline, flying over a hundred kilometres under enemy radar – a scant fifty feet above the wavetops – eventually setting down just over twenty kilometres east of the Word of Blake LZ. The feat, he reflected, was also a testament to the OCDF's enhanced stealth technology.

A smile broke across his face as he contemplated the mission ahead. It had been some time since the Dinochromes had deployed in anger. It was also their first operation outside OC space. Even better, they were getting to test their mettle against the best troops and equipment the Word of Blake could field. In addition to his battalion of Dinochrome mechs, the Wolverines had agreed to assign a Star of their Berserker battle armour troops, on temporary detached duty. They'd also managed to squeeze a company of tanks aboard the fourth dropship.

For a moment, Baker almost felt sorry for the Blakists, given what was about to be visited upon them.

All the Dinochrome mechs were either unique designs, or heavily modified variants, mixing IS and Clan tech, including innovations unknown outside the Outer Colonies. Because of their policy of isolation and avoiding attention from the rest of the Inner Sphere, equipment was carefully sourced from manufacturers in all the major Successor States, bought by shell companies, run by the All Seeing Eye. Most of their Clan tech came via the Wolverines, who in turn obtained equipment from the Diamond Sharks, through trusted third parties. That way, if equipment was destroyed, or had to be left behind, even the most careful forensic examination would draw a blank beyond its original point of manufacture.

Baker's personal mech was a modified _Behemoth II_, a Clan design, known to them as the _Stone Rhino_. This one had a reinforced dorsal weapon mount, enabling it to carry the massive assault gauss rifle mounted there. Designed to punch through the heaviest mech armour with a single shot, the huge slugs had also proved capable of decimating dropships in field tests. Besides that, it carried a quartet of Light PPCs in its arms, which compensated for their relatively low damage with short recharge times and low heat output. Rounding out the loadout were a pair of heavy small lasers, mounted in the chin turret. Protected by sixteen tons of ferro-fibrous armour and a laser anti-missile system, he felt almost invincible.

This feeling was only reinforced as he saw his XO, Captain Lorelie Woodward moving up on his right in her _Marauder II_. The Command Lance was rounded out by a _Stalker_ and a Clan _Warhawk_ _B_ – the machine and its pilot also on loan from the Wolverines. Behind them, three companies, made up of assault, heavy and medium lances, formed up. Pushed for space, there had been no transport available for the Berserkers, but they made do, hitching rides on any mechs with convenient hand and footholds.

He activated his radio and set it to the battalion frequency. "This is Grimlock to all units, move out".

In the end, it took nearly half an hour to make their way through the undulating terrain, littered with obstacles including rivers and woods, which slowed their progress. Thirty nerve-fraying minutes during which Baker expected a surprise attack from any direction. Even with enhanced stealth and terrain-hugging tactics, he couldn't shake the feeling someone must have spotted their approach. In the end, his fears proved to be unfounded.

He was jerked out of his reverie as his radio headset crackled to life.

"Recon reports Blakist LZ quiet". It was Captain Michael Monroe, commander of Caesar Company.

"Defence perimeter consists of automated turrets and a mixed company of light and medium tanks. Mobile artillery battery set up in the centre of the encampment".

Monroe paused as he waited for more info. "Okay and here's the fun part. Three Overlords, a Hamilcar and a Triumph parked in a circle formation, radius about half a klick".

"God Almighty! Sounds like they've set up a perfect killing ground".

"It won't be easy, but we do have some things going for us. The LZ is in a shallow valley. While charging straight in would be suicide, we could hug the hills, stay just below the crest line and concentrate fire on one dropship at a time. We can use the strike lances to deal with the perimeter defences and take out the APUs to slow down their power-up sequences, to buy us some more time".

"A little too conservative for my liking", Baker replied. "I think one assault lance per ship ought to be enough. Still means the other two are free to open up on us, but maybe they'll be more reluctant if we stay in close proximity. As far as I know, even Wobblies don't shoot their own people unless they have to".

"There's a risk we could be caught in the explosions if they go up".

"Good point. New rules of engagement: everyone is to remain at least three hundred metres clear of the dropships at all times. Everyone stays mobile and bear in mind the enemy's lines of sight. If we can trick 'em into shooting at each other, it just makes our job easier".

"Suggest we go in with passive sensors too", said Acting-Captain Anouska Hallis, CO of Nike Company. "No sense in alerting them any sooner than necessary".

"Agreed. Passive sensors, ECM, anything we can use to create maximum confusion and chaos. Alright people, lets make those toaster worshippers sorry they ever set foot on this planet".

With that, the strike lances of Nike and Hector companies moved ahead of the main force, linking up with the quartet of medium mechs from Caesar company.

Lieutenant Larissa Cromwell, slowly eased her _Blackjack BJ2-OF_ to a halt, as she crested a small ridge, to find a pair of automated turrets, some 600 metres directly ahead of her, covering an entrance to the LZ. Sergeant Andrew Wallace pulled up on her left in his bird-like _Gesu_ – another Clan design, whose blueprints had somehow found their way into the hands of the All-Seeing Eye.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Just give the word", Wallace replied.

By way of response she let fly with her mech's ERPPC, destroying the nearest turret instantly. A second later, the _Gesu's_ twin LRM15 racks unleashed thirty long-range missiles, which obliterated the far turret.

Elsewhere around the LZ, the Striker lances of Nike and Hector Companies eliminated the remaining turrets and gun emplacements that provided the LZ's first line of defence.

* * *

**_Command Vehicle,  
66th Shadow Division Field Base_**

"Sir! Our turrets and mobile guns are going offline!"

The Adept who'd drawn the morning watch and who didn't have his hearing impaired by headphones, was already on his feet and racing for the door, having heard the distant thunder of explosions.

"We're under attack! Sound the alarm!"

The tech monitoring the outer defences stared after him in confusion for a moment, before hitting the switch that sounded a harsh electronic klaxon throughout the compound.

The Adept ran outside to be greeted with a scene of chaos, people running this way and that. Some headed for the dropships, others to vehicles, while others manned the inner defences. He thought for a moment, before deciding to report to Demi-Precentor Morax, his unit commander. Whatever was going on, it was above his rank and pay grade to make any further decisions. As he ran, he saw a dozen tanks from III-Epsilon begin moving out from the compound.

* * *

**_Caesar Striker Two,  
Perimeter of WoB LZ_**

"Uh-oh. Armour units, twelve o'clock, 500 metres. Zhukovs and Myrmidons - look sharp!"

Sergeant Wallace began moving his _Gesu_ in a circling movement, to keep them in his sights, while avoiding being a sitting duck. His was one of the more lightly armoured mechs in the strike force and couldn't absorb much punishment.

"Bravo Lead, we've got Regulators and Maxims at the western pass! They're all over us!"

"Gamma Lead, encountering Brutus assault tanks at the eastern entrance. Taking a lot of firepower to bring 'em down".

Cromwell decided she'd heard enough. "Striker Lead to Command, encountering heavy enemy armour forces. I think its time for the big boys to lend a hand".

"Copy that Striker Lead. Dispatching Hammer lances".

Captain Monroe switched frequencies to the command channel, "Striker lances requesting backup. Time to send in the heavies".

At a signal from their commanders, a further twelve mechs detached from the main force and headed for the Word of Blake base at full throttle.

* * *

**_Caesar Hammer One,  
Approaching Perimeter of WoB LZ_**

"Hammer Lead to all Striker units, break contact with enemy armour and conduct a sweep of the base. Take out the dropship APUs, any defensive positions and relay as much info as you can to Command".

"Are you crazy? You want us to go under the guns of those dropships?" demanded Cromwell.

Lieutenant Sean McKinney was patient with his reply. "They should have just started their power up sequences. That should give you a good five minutes or so to get in, have a look round and clear out. Taking out their APUs will buy us an extra five minutes or so, before they get their weapons on-line".

"Copy that, Hammer Lead".

She didn't sound convinced, but McKinney knew the mission parameters required the assault lances to have entered the base before the dropships were fully powered up.

He glanced at his sensor display and saw it was littered with targets. Time to hold up their end of the mission. His _Wildcat_ crested the same ridge Caesar's Striker lance had minutes earlier and saw the area crawling with enemy tanks. Moments later, Hammer Two, Three and Four, a _Pitbull, Ares_ and _Tenchi_, pulled up fifty meters to his left and right.

"Ready to go to work lads?"

The Hammer lances were a potent mix of cutting edge Clan and Inner Sphere tech. These four were brand new designs, sporting the very latest weaponry. Combined, the three lances had more than enough to overcome the Level III of armour the Blakists had left behind to guard the base.

McKinney targeted the nearest tank, a _Myrmidon_ and unleashed his twin Light PPCs, which together did marginally greater damage than a conventional ERPPC. The Blakist medium tank came to a halt with smoke pouring from its turret, its crew bailing out frantically. A _Maxim_ strayed too close for its own good and he unleashed his RAC20. The massive rotary autocannon made the 75-ton mech vibrate as it fired, but the results spoke for themselves. The huge slugs tore through the _Maxim's_ armour and into its ammo bins, detonating ordnance and turning the hovertank into a fireball.

He paused to glance out of his cockpit. To his left and right he could see Sergeant Ellis McCormack and Corporal Aaron Reed cutting swathes through the lighter enemy tanks. Ellis' 70-ton _Pitbull_ also sported twin LPPCs, plus a dorsal-mounted RAC20 and although slower, it also had jumpjets. Reed was putting his _Tenchi's_ paired PPCs to devastating use, along with its bank of medium lasers. The 65-tonner carried the same 13 tons of armour as the _Pitbull_, but was faster, in addition to being jump capable. A huge explosion made him glance to his right. He saw Lance Corporal Sabra Matthews' _Ares_, the 60-ton mech's ATM12 launcher still smoking, standing less than 200 meters from the burning remnants of some tank or other…there wasn't enough left to identify it.

Further in the distance, he saw further flashes and explosions as the other two lances added their firepower to the fight. Almost reduced to spectators, the pair of _Orions_, a _Warhammer_, _Black Knight_, _Avatar C_, _Cauldron Born B_, _Blackheart_ and _Archer_ held back, using their long range weapons to pick off any Blakist tanks that tried to flee or hide, while the quartet from Caesar company ran riot in their midst, clearing a path for the approaching assault lances.

* * *

**_Overlord Dropship_ Heretic's Curse,_  
66th Shadow Division Field Base_**

"Precentor Alastor, Keres Base is under attack by unidentified forces. Request you release a Level III to return and deal with them".

Alastor listened to Demi Precentor Morax's report in disbelief. "Why are you only reporting this now? Why did you not notify me of their approach or arrival on planet?"

Morax hesitated. He knew his next answer would only anger Alastor further. "Precentor, we were unaware of their arrival. The first we knew of their presence was when our perimeter defences went offline".

"Impossible! There is no way they could avoid our sensors". A pause. "I assume you've also been monitoring Coalition satellite traffic?"

"Of course, Precentor…but we saw nothing to alert us to an inbound assault force".

"This could not have come at a more inconvenient time. III-Gamma is down for refit. They bore the brunt of the enemy's defences. III-Beta are dispersed across the city on patrol and I've set up a temporary headquarters with III-Alpha at the palace. It would take us fifteen to twenty minutes to reach you".

For the first time since he'd gone from being a mere _Frail_ to a Manei Domini, Morax felt uneasy. "I am not certain we will be able to hold out that long, Precentor".

"You WILL hold!" snapped Alastor. "We are very close to completing our mission here. I will not allow it to be compromised by some ragtag bunch of mercenaries, or whoever the Regent has managed to bribe to rescue them! You will hold, or die trying".

"Blake's Will be done", Morax responded dutifully.

* * *

**_Albion Palace,  
50km north west of Westminster,  
Britannia_**

"…has assured me that the Word of Blake will…" Sandringham broke off in mid-sentence as Alastor stormed into the function room.

"You will give me the transmission codes, names and locations of the allied force that just landed…immediately!"

The Regent's face was a picture of genuine surprise, as he turned away from the holovid recorder. "What? I have no idea what you're talking about".

Alastor gestured to one of the guards, "Go downstairs and tell them to begin executing the prisoners".

Sandringham jumped to his feet and angrily strode towards the Manei Domini commander. "Hold it right there! I told you I have no knowledge of any allied forces and that is the truth, as Blake is my witness!"

Alastor struck Sandringham across the face with his prosthetic hand, causing the Regent to stumble backwards. "Heretic! How dare you invoke His name".

He paused to consider the other man's words, while his cybernetic eye shifted through various scanning modes, monitoring the Regent's body temperature, perspiration and pupil dilation. His aural implants also allowed him to analyse Sandringham's voice stress. He decided the man was telling the truth.

"However, I do not believe you to be the kind of man to needlessly sacrifice his people".

"Unlike some people!" William spat contemptuously.

"We serve the Master. There can be no greater sacrifice than to give our lives in His name".

He gestured to the guards again, "You will remain here while we deal with these…allies of yours".


	48. Smoking the Nest

**_66th Shadow Division Field Base,  
20km south of Westminster_**

Major Baker guided his _Behemoth II_ carefully between the burning hulks and scattered wreckage that were the remains of the Blakist armour unit. This was only the first part of their mission here and he didn't want to risk crippling his mech before they were halfway through.

The heavy lances of Nike and Hector companies had split into pairs and were performing sentry duty, covering each of the approaches to the base. Caesar's heavy lance were returning to the Dinochromes' LZ to repair and re-arm, after their close-range brawl with the Blakist tanks.

Jeff was feeling more confident now. So far, their plan had gone without a hitch. The Striker lances had returned good intel on the disposition of the remaining enemy forces, enabling them to update their plan of attack on the fly. He moved through the narrow gully, formed by a break in the hills, the _Behemoth's_ massive arms barely clearing the sides and got his first visual look at the enemy encampment.

'_Crikey! Its bigger than I expected'._

Although the scout reports had allowed them to build up a good picture of exactly what to expect, nothing beat getting eyeballs on the situation personally. A wide shallow valley lay before him. As reported, the Word of Blake dropships had set down in a roughly circular pattern, each separated from the other by several hundred metres. Clusters of tents were dotted about the area. Fires and blast craters showed where the Striker lances had taken out targets of opportunity.

Small calibre rounds began to ping off his mech's heavy armour and he began scrolling through the target list generated by his battle computer, looking for the gun emplacements the Strikers had missed. He selected one and tied two of his quad LPPCs to the joystick's main trigger. His mech's slow, steady gait made it easy to drift his crosshairs over the distant mobile gun. He squeezed the trigger and twin azure bolts of charged particles reached out, vapourising the weapon. Baker saw the pale blue discharge of a gauss rifle, flash past his cockpit canopy, to his right and saw another emplacement explode in a miniature fireball. Captain Monroe's stock _Behemoth_ moved out to his right heading towards his assigned dropship with the rest of Caesar Assault lance.

A motley assortment of automated laser and projectile turrets put up a near-continuous barrage of fire, but one by one they were despatched by a mixture of PPC, autocannon and missile fire. Unsurprisingly, they were not harassed by any Word of Blake ground troops.

'_Resistance is futile'_, Baker thought with a grim smile.

Turning his attention to the nearest _Overlord_, he selected his primary weapon and settled his crosshairs over its hulking form, just below its centre. He noted with satisfaction that its attendant APUs had been reduced to smoking wrecks. He brought the _Behemoth_ to a halt, just long enough to brace the mech, planting its massive legs in a wide stance, before squeezing the trigger. There was a loud _whoosh_ as the assault gauss rifle discharged. The 100-ton mech rocked slightly, as the laws of physics tried to push it in the opposite direction.

He was rewarded with the sight of the massive quarter-ton projectile shattering several square metres of the dropship's armour plating. It was swiftly followed up with twin EPPPC blasts and a volley of long range missiles from Lance Corporal Jenna Swift's _Stalker_. Lieutenant Helena Carter's _Marauder II_ added to the withering hail of fire with her twin ERPPCs and gauss rifle. In the end, it was Acting-Sergeant Cedrin (actually Warrior Cedrin, also on temporary detached duty from Clan Wolverine) that finished the job. His _Warhawk Prime's_ twin ERPPCs and LRMs finally punched through the _Overlord's_ tough armoured hide and evidently started an internal fire, as dense grey-black smoke began pouring from the gaping hole in its flank.

Baker heard whoops and cheers over the radio, as licks of flame began to show through the smoke, indicating the fire had really taken hold. One or two with a crueller sense of humour laughed as the people on board began streaming out of the dropship, using any escape route they could find.

Captain Monroe settled his crosshairs over the second _Overlord_, over half a kilometre east of the first. "Okay people, lets take her out".

His lance faced a tougher task, but Caesar Assault still carried a fearsome array of firepower. The _Bowman_ to his right opened up first with its Arrow missile launcher. It carried the Thunderbolt variant, designed as a direct-fire weapon, rather than the more common artillery version. One of the most powerful weapon systems a mech could mount, it packed marginally more punch than an assault gauss rifle and was able to make a sizeable dent in the dropship's port side. As soon as it was in range, the pilot opened up with the _Bowman's_ MRM30 launcher, the heavy medium-range missiles nearly doubling the damage.

As soon as the range dropped to 600 metres, Monroe launched an alpha strike. His _Behemonth's_ twin large pulse lasers and gauss rifles blasted and vapourised more armour from the _Overlord's_ hull. While he waited for his weapons to recycle and for the heat spike to dissipate, the _Zeus_ and _Deimos_ to his left waded into the attack with salvoes of LRMs, further wounding the already ravaged giant. It wasn't happening fast enough though. Still waiting for his mech to cool down, Monroe dropped his crosshairs, causing his weapons to track downward, targeting the dropship's engines.

He radioed the _Deimos'_ pilot. "Caesar Four, target the engines with your ACs. Try to rupture the fuel lines. Maybe I can ignite the fuel with my lasers".

Sergeant Toni De Agostini complied, unleashing her six UAC2s and adding volleys from her twin LRM15 launchers for good measure. A small explosion announced the rupturing of at least one fuel line, which would cripple it but not put it out of action.

"Caesar Lead to all units, target that thing's engines! I want it grounded – permanently!"

With his temperature gauge back in the green, Monroe unleashed another burst from his pulse lasers, which sent it nudging into the red once again. It was worth it though, as more smoke began to billow from its engine nacelles.

Lance Corporal Rhys Owens responded immediately, his _Zeus' _huge arm-mounted launcher spewing forth another volley of missiles, followed by an azure lance of charged particles from its PPC. Lieutenant Isobel Cox alternated her next attack, sending another Thunderbolt from her _Bowman_ at the dropship's mauled flank and another spread of MRMs at its engines.

Copious quantities of fuel were already leaking from its smashed pipelines and storage tanks. The final attack ignited it, blowing apart two of the large bell-shaped engine shrouds, as well as two landing struts, causing the eleven thousand ton ship to list heavily to one side. Further internal explosions blew out bay doors, revealing the interior to be an inferno. Only a handful of people were seen escaping this time.

"Nice going ladies and gents", said Monroe, allowing himself a quiet smile of satisfaction.

* * *

"Freebirth!"

Acting-Captain Anouska Hallis cursed as a pale blue lance reached out from her target and struck her _Blood Asp B_ on the left torso. Seconds later, a pair of PPC bolts flashed out, vapourising over a ton of armour, further weakening her left side, but doing nothing to dampen her appetite for combat. Like a number of Wolverines, Star Captain Hallis had accepted this assignment with the OCDF for the chance to see real combat, beyond the token Trials they usually fought.

"Nike Lead to all units. Use caution, they have brought their weapons on line!"

"I've got your back, Captain", replied Corporal Lorien West.

He brought his 80-ton _Talos_, a new Combine design, in between the wounded _Blood Asp_ and the dropship, immediately launching a furious attack on the third _Overlord_, its paired ERPPCs and large lasers flaying tons of armour from its flank. He followed up with a double volley of Streak SRMs, which penetrated the remaining armour and began to eat into the hull.

"Uh oh, not good", West muttered, cursing his stupidity, as his heat levels soared.

"Warning. Heat level critical - shutdown imminent".

West rolled his eyes at the main computer's unnecessary audio warning. The heat in the cockpit was stifling and threatened to overwhelm him. He punched the coolant button, which flushed additional refrigerant through the mech's heat sinks and immediately felt the temperature drop to something approaching tolerable.

"Ah, crap!"

That wasn't his only problem. In his eagerness to defend his commander, he'd landed closer to the dropship than he'd anticipated and was now taking fire from its short and medium range weapons. He backed away and began to circle, now firing his weapons alternately, both to maintain a steady rate of fire and to manage his heat levels.

Having had time to steady her mech and orient herself, Hallis added her _Blood Asp's_ gauss rifle and paired LRM20 launchers to the attack. The nickel ferrous gauss slug and forty long-range missiles savaged the armour, already weakened by West's attack. Lieutenant Jarvis Qualter's _Warthog_ followed up with it's ERPPC, gauss rifle and twin ATM6 launchers. By now the punishment was beginning to tell, as holes opened up in the dropship's superstructure. Sergeant Anya De Walt's _Cyclops_ waded in to exploit the damage, letting fly with her gauss rifle and LRM15 launcher.

Despite the Dinochromes' onslaught, the dropship's gunners fought back, but Hallis kept her lance spread out and mobile, meaning less than a quarter of their shots found their mark. However, they lacked sufficient heavy weaponry to finish their target quickly.

"Nike Lead to Command, if you are not otherwise engaged, we could use some help here".

Like most Clan warriors, Anouska Hallis was loathe to ask for assistance in all but the direst of situations, but she was also acutely aware the mission parameters demanded the dropships be destroyed or disabled, before they could take off.

Major Baker and the command lance had been on their way to engage the _Hamilcar_ aerospace carrier, when Hallis' call came in. His eyebrows knitted briefly as he thought about the consequences of deviating from the mission plan, before deciding a short diversion wouldn't foul things up too badly.

"Command to Nike Lead, on our way, ETA two minutes".

Switching channels, he told the rest of the command lance about their side trip. "Okay ladies and gents. Hallis needs our help. If you look to your left, you'll see a big ugly Overlord that needs taking out. Lets get to it".

Less than two minutes later, the giant metal egg was in range of his guns. He could see Hallis and the rest of Nike Assault lance, still circling and weaving, trading fire with their vastly bigger target. Settling his crosshairs over the dropship's lower hull, he stopped, braced and let fly with all four of his LPPCs and AGR. The _Behemoth_ shuddered as it fought the recoil of its enormous primary weapon, but Baker was rewarded with the sight of a large hole opening up in the _Overlord's_ flank, the oversized gauss slug tearing through its weakened armour like a tin can. As before, Lance Corporal Swift and Lieutenant Carter followed up his attack, a blizzard of ERPPCs and LRMs adding to the damage.

The _Overlord_ was on fire in several locations now and a number of its weapon ports were now silent. Out of the corner of his eye, Baker caught Cedrin's _Warhawk_ lumbering into view. Without even slowing, the Wolverine warrior unleashed his own volley of ERPPCs and missiles. On the opposite side, Nike Assault lance were hitting the dropship with everything they had. From within that deadly hail of fire, someone evidently hit something vital, as a huge explosion tore open the side of the _Overlord_, a huge fireball gutting its interior. When the smoke cleared, it looked as though someone had taken a toffee hammer to an Easter egg.

"Christ Almighty, sir" said Carter, in a slightly stunned voice. "I've never seen anything that big go up from this close before".

"Impressive, isn't it?" Baker replied. "Right that's three down. Time to finish this job".

Before he could say anything further there was a shout over the radio.

"The dropship's lifting!"

Baker scanned desperately, left and right, cursing the _Behemoth's_ sluggish movement, as he tried to recall where he'd seen the other dropships. The heat of battle, along with the thick palls of smoke that were now drifting across the valley, had left him slightly disoriented. Then he saw it.

To his right, over half a kilometre away, the sleek, aerodyne _Triumph_ assault dropship, rose slowly on pillars of fire, its landing struts retracting into its hull.

"Grimlock to all units, target that damn dropship…do NOT let those bastards escape!"

Baker lined up his crosshairs over the _Triumph's_ cockpit and for only the third time since the attack started, fired his assault gauss. He cursed as an abrupt course change caused his shot to miss low and wide. His LPPCs flickered over its nose, vapourising armour but doing no critical damage. Pale blue lances reached out from the assault craft and the _Behemoth_ shook, as it was struck by a gauss slug and twin PPC bolts.

The air came alive, resembling a deadly fireworks display, as the rest of the Command lance, Caesar and Nike Assault lances joined in the attack. Although impressively armed, the _Triumph _was still very much outgunned by the three lances of Dinochrome mechs. Worse, in order to fit all that weaponry, its designers had compromised on the armour, making it relatively thin-skinned. The barrage of PPC, autocannon and missile fire directed at it, rapidly whittled away its protective shell.

Its pilot struggled to gain altitude, to get out of range of the onslaught. Just when it seemed to be getting away, its ascent faltered and it began to fall. By now a number of its weapon bays had been destroyed and smoke was streaming from a hole in the hull, near the starboard engine bay.

To compensate, the pilot gunned the remaining engines and pushed the nose down, trading altitude for speed. As it accelerated, Baker began tracking it, keeping his crosshairs on the underside of its hull, firing his LPPCs in pairs, as fast as they recharged. A few of the _Triumph's_ gunners still fought back, sending flurries of laser fire and the odd salvo of missiles back at the Dinochromes, but there were simply too many targets for them to press home a concerted attack.

The dropship now loomed large in Baker's cockpit canopy and he began turning his mech, knowing it would pass over head very quickly. He felt the _Behemoth_ rock again under a barrage of missiles as its gunners spotted a target of opportunity, but then in a few seconds, it was past and speeding away from him, although struggling to gain altitude. Rapidly dropping his crosshairs over the receding craft, he selected his AGR, took aim at the section of hull emitting smoke and fired. The results were spectacular.

The quarter-ton hypersonic slug smashed apart several square metres of its right aft section, obliterating its defunct engine and igniting its remaining fuel. The resulting explosion tore apart the adjacent engine. The sudden loss of thrust and kinetic energy of the blast, caused the dropship to sink even lower and veer to the right…straight into one of the jagged rocky peaks bordering the valley, which the pilot had been trying desperately to avoid. The collision was audible even inside a mech cockpit.

Baker watched as the dropship's starboard side was torn open by the impact, showering debris all over the hillside. It quickly dropped out of sight, though its progress could be followed by the trail of smoke and flame from its wrecked engines. Seconds later there was another faint, thunderous crash and the trail of smoke and fire became a steadily rising column as the _Triumph_ came to its final resting place. For a few moments, Jeff wondered idly if there were any survivors, before deciding he didn't much care.

He turned his mech back around and glanced in the direction of the last remaining Word of Blake dropship, a _Hamilcar_ aerospace carrier. "Alright people, lets finish this job, so we can get on with the main mission".

Only the Dinochromes would consider taking out five large and heavily armed dropships as a diversion.

He noticed Hector lance backing off, taking up support positions, roughly halfway up the valley side. Caesar and Nike lances were making no move to join the action.

"Has everyone suddenly developed hearing defects? I said, take out that dropship!"

A voice sounded in his headset. It was Star Commander Tyrel, "Commander, my troops are boarding the dropship as we speak. It will be ours very soon".

Baker had almost forgotten about the Berserkers. He shivered involuntarily as he thought of the havoc they would wreak in the confines of a dropship. He had yet to see anything that could stand up to the Wolverines' enhanced armoured infantry. He doubted even Manei Domini troops, with their prosthetic limbs and cybernetic implants would last long.

As he watched, the only visible evidence that anything was going on, was the steady reduction of fire coming from the _Hamilcar's_ weapon bays. Less than quarter of an hour later, it stopped completely. Five minutes after that, Star Commander Jarid was back on the radio.

"Commander, we have secured the dropship. The Blakist robot-warriors fought to the death, but they were no match for us".

Baker thought he detected a note of admiration for their foes, from the Berserker commander. "Well, I've heard that's their way when they're cornered. Casualties?"

"Light. We lost two warriors and have another five wounded".

"Please pass on my commendations to your troops. They have brought honour to the Wolverines with their actions".

Baker wasn't sure how the trueborn Clan warrior would take a compliment from a freeborn, but he decided it was worth at least making the effort.

With the Ironsides armour company now rolling into what was left of the Blakist base and Tyrel's armoured infantry on hand, Baker felt his earlier sense of urgency return.

"Grimlock to all units, move out. We've still got a Wobblie Division to take down and a Regent to rescue".


	49. Shattered Ambitions

**Archangel Invictus,  
66th Shadow Division Command Unit,  
5km South of Westminster**

"Alastor to Keres Base, come in. Keres Base, do you copy? Demi-Precentor Morax, this is Alastor, respond!"

"That doesn't sound promising", said Swindelli, cutting in on the command channel. "Looks like the mercs, or whoever they are, beat us there".

Alastor wanted to curse, but he seemed to have forgotten most of the swear words he had known before he became Ascended. Instead he was left with the vaguely frustrating sense he should be able to articulate his feelings better.

"Impossible! No force small enough to evade detection could have captured or destroyed our landing zone so quickly. We have been monitoring all traffic approaching the Albion ADR and warning all merchant shipping the Coalition is closed for business. Any military vessels would have been engaged and destroyed".

"Well, the Bismarck and the Fury did report tangling with a pair of unidentified destroyers several hours ago".

"Yes and they also said those ships fled the system without launching any dropships".

"Well, whoever these intruders are, they didn't just materialise out of thin air".

"I wasn't suggesting they did", Alastor growled, his patience with this irritating _Frail_ wearing thin. "It is irrelevant in any case, we will crush them just as we did these Coalition heretics".

He switched channels to communicate with his scouts. He didn't expect any news yet, but any excuse not to talk to Swindelli was welcome.

"Precentor Alastor to Shade Six, report".

"Still too far from the LZ for a visual report, Precentor, but there are clouds of smoke directly over the area. Some are dissipating but some are still growing. No signs of activity, either enemy or friendly and nothing on sensors".

Alastor cursed silently. Whatever was making those clouds was obviously still burning, indicating that fighting had taken place there very recently. Worse, any force that could cripple or destroy five dropships had to be very heavily armed and therefore highly dangerous. He wished he'd recalled III-Beta from patrol duty. He was just mulling over whether or not to do just that, when his headset crackled to life.

"Precentor, this is Shade Six, we are engaging the enemy. Uploading position as Nav Lambda. Request immediate re…"

The message died abruptly in mid-sentence, along with Shade Six, Alastor suspected. He didn't bother trying to summon his scout leader. He had a location. That was all he needed.

* * *

**Dinochrome Caesar Company,  
10km North of WoB LZ,**

"Striker Lead to Command! Enemy mechs spotted under one klick from our location. Setting as Nav Point Epsilon. Engaging now!"

Captain Monroe tensed instinctively as Lieutenant Cromwell's message came through his headset. "Copy that Striker Lead, moving on your position, ETA two minutes".

He switched to the command frequency, "Major, the Blakists have been sighted. My Striker Lance have engaged them, rest of Caesar company moving to support. Uploading position now".

"Acknowledged".

Baker cursed silently as his fingers danced over the keys of his battle computer. For all their sophistication, the Dinochrome mechs lacked a C3 system, meaning he had to relay the Blakists' position to each of the other company commanders manually. Across all the units, hands tightened on throttles and joysticks and with the precision born of years of experience, the battalion altered course to intercept the inbound Word of Blake unit.

* * *

**Caesar Striker Lance,**  
**11km North of WoB LZ**

"Son of a bitch!"

Larissa Cromwell wasn't given to swearing, but that last volley of SRMs from the Blakist _Raijin_ had come very close to providing her cockpit with some much needed ventilation. Instead the missiles had slammed into her _Blackjack F's_ left arm. Her damage display had it shaded yellow…nothing to worry about just yet. Her main problem was her target was considerably faster and more manoeuvrable. She tried to guess where it would go as it sprinted past her. Switching to her rear view camera, she hit the switch to flip her mech's arms and allowed her crosshairs to track just in front of it, while she waited impatiently for her arms to lower.

_There!_

She fixed her crosshairs in place and a second later the _Raijin_ ran squarely into them. Her index finger squeezed the joystick's primary trigger on instinct and an ERPPC bolt hit the Blakist mech in the centre torso, followed a fraction of a second later by a UAC10 slug. To her disappointment, it staggered and slowed, but kept moving. Before she could turn her attention away, it disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame as it was clobbered by a swarm of long-range missiles, she guessed from Wallace's _Gesu_. The _Raijin_ reeled, before going down hard. It didn't get up again.

"That you, Sarge?"

"First rule in the Sergeants' manual - keep an eye on your CO", replied Wallace with a chuckle.

Larissa got her weapons facing forward again and sought out another target, only to see the Blakist _Hermes_ dispatched by the combined firepower of Corporal Sian Jenkins' _Bushwacker _and Lance-Corporal Faith Hammond's _Crab_. That left them facing a pair of tougher, more heavily armed _Blue Flames_. They both fired their main weapons at once, targeting Hammond's _Crab_. The quartet of extended range large lasers ate through the armour over it's left knee joint. There was a gout of smoke and flame as the actuator was partially incinerated, crippling the medium mech and prompting a call for help.

"Left leg's gone! Can't make much above walking speed - I'm a sitting duck here".

"Get out of here, we'll cover you", Cromwell replied, targeting the nearest _Blue Flame_.

In one smooth movement, she dropped her crosshairs over the quad mech's low, wide profile and fired both her main weapons. They smashed and vapourised armour from its right flank, without doing any critical damage, but as before Sergeant Wallace followed up her attack with another volley of missiles, peppering its head and left flank. His paired extended range lasers carved deeper into its flank, finding an ammo bin for one of its twin SRM launchers. The missiles detonated, blowing its left torso apart. The legs sagged at the knee joints and its front end dipped towards the ground, as it suffered an emergency shutdown.

There was no time to savour this minor victory, as a pair of _Scorpions_, two _Shadow Hawks_ and another _Griffin_ crested a low ridge, just under a kilometre to the north.

"Striker Lead to Command, another six Wobblies just came into visual range. Sensors are painting at least another two companies, spread all across our front".

"Copy that Striker Lead. We're on our way, ETA less than two minutes. Nike and Hector Striker lances should be with you any moment now".

The _Griffin_ opened fire, its ERPPC and LRM launcher sending an azure energy lance, followed by a cloud of projectiles, at Jenkins' _Bushwacker_. The particle beam seared armour off it's boxy nose, but Sian activated the _Bushwacker's_ AMS, as she manoeuvred into the cover of a low ridge, ensuring she suffered no further damage. The _Scorpions_ opened up with their extended range particle cannon and the _Shadow Hawks_ fired salvoes of long-range missiles. This time, Cromwell's _Blackjack_, Wallace's _Gesu_ and Hammond's retreating _Crab_ all took hits.

"Where the hell are you? We're getting pounded here!" Larissa called angrily over the battalion's general frequency.

By way of response, the northern ridgeline the Blakist mechs had just crested, disappeared in a cloud of smoke and dirt. When it cleared, one of the _Shadow Hawks_ was lying face down and the _Griffin_ was missing its right arm. Cromwell turned her mech to the left, to see eight mechs wearing the Dinochrome Brigade's livery of matt black with light grey trim, come stalking over the large rise behind them. Among the newcomers were a pair of _Bushwackers_, two more _Crabs_, an _Uziel_ and another _Blackjack II_ omnimech. The Blakists returned fire, raking the Nike and Hector company mechs with particle cannon and missile fire, but this time, it was Caesar's mechs that took retribution.

With the range closing, Larissa was able to bring her autocannon into play, targeting the second _Blue Flame_ from the first unit they'd encountered. Coupled with her ERPPC, it savaged the Blakist quad mech's front right leg. Jenkins chose that moment to emerge from cover, unleashing her _Bushwacker's_ extended range large laser, Class 10 autocannon and long range missile launcher, destroying much of the armour prtecion around its cockpit. The _Blue Flame_ hit back with its paired ERLLs. A small explosion and a cloud of greenish vapour erupted from the _Bushwacker's _right flank.

"Armour breach. Just lost a heat sink!" called Jenkins.

Before Larissa could respond, the two newly arrived _Crabs_ opened fire, hitting the Blakist with four large lasers. It seemed to sag at the front legs and black smoke began to billow from its left torso.

The WoB _Shadow Hawk_ and _Griffin_ returned fire, pummelling the _Crabs_ with salvoes of LRMs, light autocannon fire and a PPC bolt. That only drew the wrath of the other newcomers. As the second _Shadow Hawk_ activated its jumpjets, the two _Bushwackers_ and the _Uziel_ concentrated fire on the _Griffin_ before its pilot could follow suit. It slowly toppled to the ground with smoke and flame erupting from a large ragged hole in its centre torso.

"Lieutenant, we've got more guests coming to the party. I'm reading twelve new contacts, nine hundred and fifty metres and closing, bearings Three Five One to Zero One Three".

In the heat of battle, Cromwell almost missed Sergeant Wallace's warning. Although his words didn't really register, she had the presence of mind to recalibrate her sensors and conduct a long-range scan, which confirmed his report.

"Copy that Sergeant, keep tracking them".

She switched channels. "Caesar Striker Lead to Command, we're tracking another inbound force, estimate company strength. Looks like the Wobblies are bringing their big guns to the party. Whats your ETA?"

"Nike and Hector Hammer lances should be with you in under a minute. We had them kick it into high gear so you'd have support ASAP, but that meant we got left behind a little. Assault and Command lances still about five minutes from your position", replied Captain Monroe.

"Glad to hear it sir. Looks like there's going to be plenty of fun for everyone".

* * *

**Archangel Invictus,  
66th Shadow Division Command Unit,  
7km South of Westminster**

"Precentor Alastor to Delta Lead, come in…Precentor Alastor to Adept Levine, respond!"

Alastor's fury only intensified as his repeated calls were met with silence. Only now his anger was tinged with uncertainty. This new enemy appeared to be far more capable than anything they had encountered anywhere in the Inner Sphere. Was it possible the heretics possessed technology and warriors equal to the Hand of the Master?

He made another call. "Precentor Alastor to Demi-Precentor Malthus, what is your operational readiness?"

"II Alpha is undergoing repair and rearming. II-Delta and Epsilon are tasked with patrolling the city. Only Beta and Gamma are currently available for immediate deployment".

"Send them at once. Transmitting co-ordinates now".

"Is there a problem, Precentor?"

"Nothing the Will of Blake cannot overcome. I am merely taking precautions".

The next call only served to crank his anger up a notch.

"Seems like we could be in over our heads here".

"That is because you lack faith, Precentor Swindelli", Alastor replied through gritted teeth, "Faith, intellect and clarity of thought bestowed by Blake on those who truly share His vision".

Swindelli bit his tongue to stop the reply that sprang immediately to mind, involving faulty implants and operating systems, leading to blinkered fanaticism. '_Best not push his buttons too hard right now_'.


	50. Counteroffensive

**Battle Line,  
12km North of WoB LZ**

"Where are you guys – don't be strangers!"

Lieutenant Larissa Cromwell, accelerated her _Blackjack II_ to a sprint, before stomping on the foot pedals to activate the jumpjets. This took her out of the firing line of a pair of fast moving, heavily armoured _White Flames_, which had crested the northern ridgeline, pulse lasers blazing. Following just moments behind were an _Avatar E_ and a _Champion_, raking the Dinochrome mechs with PPC, missile and autocannon fire.

"Sorry we're late Liz. Looks like we mistimed our approach. Skipper didn't want us arriving too early and over-committing ourselves. Didn't expect the buggers to charge this hard at us".

Lieutenant Frazer Nash sounded almost apologetic in her earpiece. "Never mind that. Now you're here, make yourselves useful and swat those bastards!"

Nash grinned as he lined up his _Warhammer's_ twin ERPPCs on the _Champion_. He knew it carried the least armour of all the heavies, making it the most vulnerable. Its pilot seemed oblivious to his presence, as it fired another burst from its autocannon at Jenkins' _Bushwacker_. He fired and the twin bolts of charged particles vapourised its right winglet, destroying the lasers mounted there and evidently finding one of the ammo bins for its main weapon. CASE panels on its torso blew out, saving the mech but rendering the autocannon useless. Its pilot tried to retreat, but was pounced on by the pair of Dinochrome _Uziels_ which savaged its thin armour with their PPCs. After a few volleys, its left knee actuator ruptured and it crashed to the ground, smoke still pouring from its ravaged torso.

An _Exterminator_ flashed across his field of view, the 65-tonner moving faster than some medium mechs were capable of. As he tried to track it, it fired something at one of the Dinochrome _Crabs_. There was no explosion or visible sign of damage and a split second later he realised it had to be a NARC beacon. Right on cue, a WoB _Bombardier_ appeared on the ridgeline and fired its twin LRM launchers. Before he could even radio a warning, the _Crab_ disappeared in a cloud of smoke and flame, hammered by forty missiles. When the smoke cleared, he saw the battered medium mech trying to limp behind a hill for cover. It never made it. The two _White Flames_ saw their chance for an easy victim and took it, rising on their jump jets, one landing in front and the other behind it. Pulse lasers blazing, they stripped it of what little armour it had left and began savaging the mech's internal structure. First one, then the other arm dropped to the ground, before its damaged leg gave way.

Furious at the way the Blakist pilots had cold-heartedly destroyed a mech that was trying to retreat from the fight, he executed a hard about turn to the right, ignoring the fire now being directed at his mech and lined up his crosshairs on the nearer _White Flame_. Before he could fire, however, both mechs came under a hail of fire from the rest of Nike and Caesar Hammer lances. Lesser-armoured mechs would have been destroyed, as the two _Orions_, _Blackheart_, _Avatar C_, _Cauldron Born_ and _Black Knight_ avenged their fallen comrade. As it was, the mech Nash had targeted activated its jump jets to try and get out of the world of hurt its pilot suddenly found themselves in.

Frazer gave a ferocious smile as he kept his crosshairs fixed on his airborne target. His index finger tightened on the trigger subconsciously. Caught in mid-air, the PPC bolts destroyed the _White Flame's_ engine housing, causing it to go into emergency shutdown. Before the pilot could eject, it slammed into the soft dirt and didn't move again. As the second _Flame_ tried to escape it was hit by a barrage from Nike Company's _Archer_. The forty long-range missiles were more than enough to finish it, tearing gaping holes in its already battered torso, destroying its gyro and blowing its front right leg off at the shoulder joint.

* * *

**Dinochrome Command Lance,  
12km North of WoB LZ**

"Grimlock to all units, advance at max throttle. I don't want these bastards getting the jump on us".

Baker was feeling unusually agitated on this mission. He always got impatient once battle was joined, but before he'd always been supremely confident in his troops' ability to hold the line until the assault lances were able to engage. These WoB Shadow Divisions though were largely an unknown quantity. Of course, the All Seeing Eye had provided them with as much intelligence as could be gleaned about these elusive foes, but there was no substitute for facing an enemy in combat.

As he glanced to his left and right, he saw the faster assault mechs begin to surge past. The _Deimos_ of Caesar Company, the _Talos_ of Nike Company and the _Thug_ of Hector Company, all lighter and quicker than their heavier assault brethren. On their own, the three mechs could bring a huge amount of extra firepower, perhaps enough to tip the balance in their favour.

Just a few minutes later they were silhouetted against the ridgeline about half a klick ahead and immediately they began firing at targets on the plain below.

* * *

**Battle Line,  
12km North of WoB LZ**

"Och, these Wobblies ain't so tough. Dinnae ken what all the fuss was about", Lieutenant Nash called over the lance frequency.

He'd just delivered a double ERPPC blast to the centre torso of the Blakist _Bombardier_ that had earlier targeted one of the Striker lance _Crabs_. Nike Hammer's _Blackheart_ and _Orion ON-7OC_ had followed up with their gauss rifles and missile racks, gutting the enemy missile boat, which slowly toppled face first to the ground.

He was taken by surprise as light autocannon trace rounds, PPC bolts and long range missiles flew high over his cockpit, slamming into a second _Bombardier_, a _White Flame_ and _Avatar E_. He quickly torso twisted, to see the unfamiliar forms of the _Deimos_, _Talos,_ together with the very recognisable _Thug_ looming over the battlefield, as they crested the ridgeline and began their descent. Once they were no longer silhouetted against the sky, they held their positions and continued to pour fire into the enemy ranks.

"Lets get stuck in lads and lasses – the cavalry's here!"

The Hammer lances of Nike and Hector companies formed an orderly battle line and under the covering fire of the newly-arrived assault units, began advancing on the remaining Blakists, who began to fall back under the intensified Dinochrome assault.

They had barely advanced half a kilometre, however, before they stopped cold, on seeing what lay beyond. The _King Crab_, _Highlander_, _Vanquisher_, _Thug_ and pair of _Legacy_ mechs would have looked formidable enough on their own. Just a couple of hundred metres behind them, however, was the Blakist command unit, with its Celestial omnimechs, made even more menacing by their crimson-and-gold paint scheme.

* * *

**Archangel Invictus,  
66th Shadow Division Command Unit,  
8km South of Westminster**

"Not a moment too soon", Alastor muttered to himself.

The motley assortment of contacts, both friendly and enemy, on his sensor display, came into visual range, allowing him to get a better picture of how the battle was playing out. He used the zoom function of his True eye to home in on the enemy mechs, to see exactly what they were up against.

The radio net was littered with calls, as the pilots of II-Alpha and the remainder of the command unit began finding targets.

"Alastor to all units, engage at will. Destroy these heretics' attack dogs".

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" came a familiar irritating voice, as he switched channels.

"Are you suggesting we should hold back…let these vermin think we are scared of them?"

"In case you deleted it from your memory bank", said Swindelli, "These vermin trashed our landing site, taking out four dropships in the process. I think we should exercise caution and wait for Malthus and his reinforcements".

"Malthus will be here soon enough. In the meantime, we shall make these _Frails_ learn the folly of opposing Blake's Will".

* * *

**Battle Line,  
12km North of WoB LZ**

"Oh crap. I think we could be in over our heads here, Frazer".

"Aye, you could be right there", Nash replied, staring at the two Blakist assault units that were rapidly bearing down on them.

Suddenly the air around them came alive as the newcomers opened fire. Brilliant azure PPC bolts, the paler discharges of gauss rifles, clouds of smoke and trails of fire from missiles. Even with all the lethal ordnance flying around him, Nash still found time to note the largest of the mechs in the trailing unit, open fire with its torso-mounted weapon. It was unlike anything he had seen before. An energy weapon with an oddly coruscating beam, it was a brilliant pink and purple at its core, with deep hues of red and blue at its edges.

Whatever it was, it appeared highly effective, vapourising a large amount of armour from the left arm of Nike Company's _Orion_.

"If you're done daydreaming Fraser, I suggest we start pulling back and let the big boys and girls handle this".

"Agreed Liz. Don't see any sense in being Wobblie punch bags until the Major shows up. Sound the retreat".

"No need to do that Lieutenant", a voice they all recognised cut through.

"Major! We were beginning tae get a wee bit worried".

"Correction – some of us were", Cromwell cut in smartly.

"I want all Hammer and Striker lances to pull out to the flanks to provide harassing fire. Hit and run only – don't try and go toe to toe with these buggers".

"We weren't planning to, sir".

Baker switched channels as another call came in.

"What do you make of them, sir?" asked Captain Monroe. "The bunch in front are all familiar faces, but the trailing unit…I've never seen anything like them".

"Before we set off, General Kravinoff showed me part of an intel report about the Wobblies' newer toys. I'm guessing they're Celestial class omnimechs. We don't know much about them, other than they have direct neural interfaces – can you believe they wet-wire the pilots to those things?"

"Christ".

"Supposedly it gives them an edge in speed and weapon accuracy".

"I guess we're about to find out. Speaking of weapons…"

"No, the All Seeing Eye didn't have time to get any meaningful data on their specs. That is, we know what they carry, but very little about range or damage etc. All they've got so far is speculation and educated guesses".

"Hmph. Very comforting".

"Well, its not like it's the first time we've gone in blind", grinned Baker. "Look on the bright side, I bet the toaster worshippers have never come across anything like us".

He switched to the general frequency. "Grimlock to all units, target your nearest enemy unit and fire at will. Lets give these bastards hell!"


	51. Exit Strategy

Swindelli cocked an eyebrow as he watched the enemy units, which had been skirmishing with III-Alpha's heavy and medium units on the valley floor below, withdraw to the flanks, pulling II-Bravo and Gamma with them. The opening salvo from II-Alpha and the command unit had wrought havoc and the mysterious intruders evidently had no appetite for further punishment.

However, before his confidence could return, he was greeted with the sight of a dozen assault mechs, wearing the enemy's colours of matt black and light grey, appear over the opposite ridgeline. Before he could call out a warning over the radio, they were unleashing their own barrage of destruction on the 66th Shadow Division mechs, still locked in combat on the valley floor. They soon moved out of range as they pursued their fleeing quarry, leaving the opposing assault units to face each other.

Now that both sets of combatants were in visual range, there was no need for any further commands. Pilots on both sides simply selected targets and opened fire.

The pilot of the _Deimos_ drew first blood in the battle of the assault units, unleashing a salvo of long-range missiles at the _Grigori Cominus_ and following up with several volleys from its autocannon. The ECM bubble the command unit was operating inside, negated the damage caused by the missiles somewhat, but could do nothing to lessen the sting of the _Deimos'_ battery of AC2s.

Armed with medium and short-range missiles, the Blakist mech was too far away for the pilot to retaliate. Instead, they activated their jumpjets, making a long leap forward, in a bid to get out of the line of fire, while also closing the range. That just brought them to the attention of several other Dinochrome mechs. The _Mauler_ and _Thug_ from Hector Company and the _Warthog_ and _Talos _from Nike Company raked it with ERPPC and autocannon fire, all through its ascent and descent. It landed heavily and lost its footing on the sloping valley wall, tumbling in an undignified heap to the bottom. Along the way, the ammo bin for its arm-mounted MRM launcher caved in and exploded, ripping off the entire lower arm. It did not move again, indicating the pilot had either been killed or knocked unconscious by the fall.

Baker, searching for a target, drifted his crosshairs over a larger, sleeker mech, on the right of the gap in the enemy formation, left by the fallen _Grigori_. He squeezed his primary trigger, unleashing his quad LPPCs, flaying armour off the Blakist machine's torso. Jeff brought his _Behemoth_ to a temporary halt and braced his mech, before thumbing the tertiary trigger button, firing the Assault Gauss Rifle. The massive projectile smashed into the _Seraph's_ torso and caused it to stagger, but failed to breach its armour. It responded with a blast from its Heavy PPC, which vapourised nearly half a ton of armour from the _Behemoth's_ right torso.

Fifty metres to his left, Captain Monroe was concentrating on the more immediate threat. His _Behemoth's_ paired gauss rifles flashed their pale blue discharges, sending a quarter of a ton of nickel ferrous metal at hypersonic speed, smashing into the broad, squat torso of a Blakist _King Crab_. While it was still reeling, he followed up with several volleys from his paired large pulse lasers – eventually forced to cease fire, to allow his mech to cool down. The Blakist pilot pushed his mech to full throttle, in a desperate effort to get close enough to use his mech's devastating LB20-X autocannon, firing its extended range large laser in response. Recognising the danger, Caesar's _Zeus_ and _Longbow_, together with Acting-Captain Hallis in her _Blood Asp_ and Captain Osterbruck in his _Annihilator_, pounced on the luckless Blakist, who found himself subjected to a nightmarish barrage of PPC, gauss and missile fire that rapidly stripped away a large portion of the _Crab's_ eighteen tons of armour. The multiple impacts overloaded the 100-ton machine's gyro and it crashed heavily to the ground, burying several feet of its front end into the dirt.

Hanging on the fringes of the battle, it was becoming apparent to Swindelli that the Manei Domini were outmatched on this particular occasion. Despite their superior speed and accuracy, the enemy were simply better equipped for long range combat, as well as being able to concentrate high volumes of fire on individual targets.

"Precentor Alastor, I think it would be advisable to conduct a fighting withdrawal. As well as speeding up our rendezvous with Malthus, it will lure the enemy forward into a situation where they will be outnumbered".

For once, Alastor's response lacked its usual barely-restrained contempt.

"I think that, on this occasion, that may be the best course of action. The heretics' lapdogs fight with unusual skill and tenacity. Keeping them at arm's length until we can bring more force to bear may frustrate them and cause them to overreach themselves".

The conversation ended abruptly as the Manei Domini commander switched channels.

"Alastor to all units, reform the battle line around the command unit and begin a staged withdrawal to nav point Iota – uploading position now".

He then switched back to the command channel, "Omega Prime to Beta Command, the intruders are proving harder to eliminate than anticipated. We are conducting a fighting withdrawal to avoid a pitched battle for the time being. Prepare to rendezvous at nav point Iota – sending co-ordinates now".

* * *

**Cavaliers Mobile Field Base,  
Wicken Caverns,  
15km southwest of Westminster**

Star Captain Marcus Steele paced the length of the cave entrance in an agitated state, relying on his peripheral vision to avoid the numerous techs, medics and warriors coming and going. Risa Clearwater sat on a smooth, age-worn boulder, back against the cave wall, her head tilted back and eyes shut.

Inside the cavern was a hive of activity. Medics had tended to the wounded as best they could and were now mainly employed preparing the dead for storage and transportation. It was hoped they would be able to conduct a proper warriors' funeral ceremony later. Adding to the organised chaos were the technicians, repairing and rearming the mechs, which had been parked in the temporary gantries hastily erected inside the caves.

Against the medics' advice, Clearwater had struggled outside, ignoring the pain of her injuries, to escape the noise and near-constant stream of requests, needing to clear her head and come to terms with the loss of Star Colonel Nuyriev. It was rare, almost unheard of, for Clan warriors to form emotional attachments to one another, but the 246th Strike Cluster had been asked to perform a highly unusual mission…one not attempted since Clan Wolf had sent the Dragoons to the Inner Sphere, over half a century earlier. With the unit's remaining original personnel now having served together for close on a decade, many close friendships had formed, above and beyond those normally found in the Clan warrior caste. The normally harsh, abrasive attitudes, most often associated with younger warriors had mellowed, especially as many were now approaching the age where they would normally be considered _solahma_, or past their prime.

Consequently, the close relationship that had existed between Nuyriev and Clearwater was just one of many throughout the unit. Now, the anguish she was experiencing made her wonder if the Clan way of emotional detachment wasn't the right one after all. The fact Steele had tracked her down and was now badgering her with further requests, did nothing to help her state of mind.

"Risa, I don't like the fact we have no idea what's going on. Our surviving sensor equipment has limited range and we have no patrols out. For all we know the Blakists could be marching on our position as we sit here".

Clearwater wearily put a hand to her head and leaned forward, "What would you have me do, Marcus? You know the condition of our warriors and mechs as well as I. We need time to rest and refit before we meet the enemy in combat again".

Steele nodded, "Normally I would agree, but right now I don't think we can afford to just sit here, deaf and blind to what goes on around us. These Blake-worshipping fanatics mauled us – worse than any opponent we have fought previously. If they can hurt us this badly, how do you think the Coalition's forces will fare against them?"

Clearwater sighed, "Right now I do not much care".

The fact she had stopped objecting to his use of contractions in his speech was just another sign of how distracted she had become.

Marcus gave an exasperated sigh of his own, "We may be masquerading as money-warriors, but we are still Clan, are we not? When we sign contracts, we may be legally obliged to fulfil them, but as warriors are we not also honour-bound to see them through, having given our word?"

Risa ran a hand through her tousled, raven hair, wincing as pain shot through her arm, "I suppose so. What are you suggesting? One last glorious charge for the honour of the Clan?"

Steele smiled, "Nothing so dramatic. Just that we at least send some recon drones out to give us the lay of the land, while we finish refitting and rearming".

"And if they show the Blakists marching on our doorstep?"

"Then we shall teach them my favourite part of the Remembrance".

"_Master of man and machine, servitor to none, the Coyote awaits._

_Skilled and tenacious, a predator without peer, the Coyote strikes:  
Fear in the hearts of its enemies,  
Pain at their sides,  
Death at their throats_".


	52. Breakout

**Albion Palace,  
50km north east of Westminster,  
Britannia**

"Hello – looks like something's got the Robes worried".

Sandringham glanced over at Katelyn Marshall, who stood, staring out of the small room's only window, which overlooked the central courtyard. The Blakists had turned it into a field base, to refit and rearm one of their Level IIIs.

"Whats going on, Kate?"

"Looks like they're getting ready to move out. Techs are clearing equipment away, putting up access ladders. I can see Malthus down there…he doesn't look too happy. More cyber-freaks coming through the gates. They're taking off their robes…just as well they have those jumpsuits underneath. They must be the pilots".

"Sounds like they've found some pockets of resistance…pretty substantial too, if they're calling up an entire Level III", said Kristina Constantinou hopefully.

The noise levels outside the room went up noticeably. They heard sounds of shouting, running, opening and slamming doors.

Sandringham stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over, "I've got an idea".

The other stared at him, confused by his sudden change in demeanour, particularly the dangerous gleam in his eye.

"I had this place built by an old-school architect. He had something of a fetish for ancient castles. Have to admit I'm rather partial to them myself. Anyway, long story short, he had a network of tunnels built under the palace, none of which show on the building plans. They can only be accessed through hidden entrances, located at various places throughout the building. Only did it so I could show off to visitors. Never thought for one moment they might actually come in handy. The nearest entrance is just down the corridor".

"Uh-huh. And how do we get out of here, first?" asked Marshall, gesturing around the small room they were currently being held in.

"Well, I'm guessing the fact the Blakists didn't kill us outright, means they have plans for us".

"Go on", said Marshall, her head cocked to one side, now listening intently.

"Well, suppose something were to happen to one of us…some kind of medical emergency, they'd have to respond, right?"

"I suppose so".

"Given I'm the oldest here…not to mention the highest ranking", he added with a grin at the others, "I guess it falls to me to be the casualty. I'll fake a heart attack – that ought to get their attention. Unfortunately, that means it falls to you to take out the guards when they come in. Not very gallant of me I'm afraid, but I think it'll be more convincing that way".

"Not a problem for me, sir", said Marshall, her eyes narrowing and hands flexing.

"I was on the women's rugby team at the academy, sir", said Constantinou. "They won't know what hit them".

"Excuse me sir, but what will we do, if and when we get to these tunnels?" said Andrei Piotrowski, speaking up for the first time since he'd joined them in captivity.

"Good question. The network leads to various locations throughout the grounds, but the one I'm interested in is the armoury".

"I like the way you think, sir", said Marshall, smiling approvingly.

"Well, I'm not proposing we take on the entire guard force single-handed, but we can at least create a diversion, which should give the rest of our people a chance to break out. Also, the central turret control system is located there. I had to give Alastor the control codes when we entered, but they can be reset from the control centre".

"And you know how to do that?"

"Of course. You think I'd have a defence system built around the palace and not learn how to operate it?"

Sandringham glanced around the room, "Any more questions? No? Then lets do this".

* * *

**Cavaliers Mobile Field Base,  
Wicken Caverns,  
15km southwest of Westminster**

"Can you get it to pan right a little and zoom in?"

Clearwater, Steele, Tamzarian and Jerricho were clustered around the makeshift UAV control station – essentially a folding table, with a laptop computer, hooked up to the drone's operating hardware. The remote control drones were a new technology to them, having always relied on conventional scouting methods. Unlike the recon probes launched by warships, which made a single pass over their targets before eventually crashing, these small, simple aircraft, seemingly used widely by Sphere militaries, flew high and slow, able to stay over their target for hours at a time, undetected, while sending real-time video feeds, only needing to return for refuelling. They had been loaned this one by their hosts and were putting it to use for the first time.

The operator did as requested, getting the drone's camera to rotate a few degrees to the right, while zooming in on the action below. It showed a large-scale mech battle in full flow. The image quality was easily good enough to pick out the distinctive tan-and-white paint scheme of the Blakist machines. What puzzled them were the black and light-grey schemes of their opponents. It was hard to say who had the upper hand, if anyone. It appeared truly chaotic, with the combatants spread over several square kilometres. The only good thing was that the action was taking place well away from the caverns and there appeared to be no immediate threat of discovery.

"The newcomers appear to be driving the Blakists north towards the capital", observed Jerricho.

"Either that or the Blakists are deliberately falling back", said Tamzarian. "While it is difficult to judge from a distance, they do not appear to be fighting as fiercely as they did against us. It is almost as if they are trying to lure them toward the city".

"You think they could be setting a trap?" said Steele. He put a hand on the operator's shoulder, "Have the drone head north. Activate thermal and MRI scan modes too".

Minutes later his fears were confirmed. A few kilometres south of Westminster, another large Blakist force was marching steadily south.

"_Stravag_", said Clearwater quietly, with a shake of her head.

"Looks like a Trinary, at least", said Jerricho, her eyes still fixed on the display.

"And whoever these newcomers are, they will run straight into them", said Tamzarian grimly.

Steele straightened and turned to face the others, "Not if I have any say in the matter. I checked with our Master Technician and Binary Alpha is ready for action".

"That is all very well for you to say", growled Tamzarian, "I had to leave my mech on the battlefield, as did most of my warriors".

"And for that I am sorry, Novak, as I have already explained…"

"Beta Assault is ready for action", said Jerricho, cutting in and surprising the others, "though my heavy Star will require much longer before they are combat ready".

"That gives us a Trinary. Should be enough to stop those _surats_ from joining forces with their comrades".

"Aff, it is time we put those cybernetic freaks out of our misery".

"Will you be able to intercept them in time?", asked Clearwater, putting one hand on her back and grimacing as she straightened up.

"If we move out now and stick to flat, open terrain. It will mean a longer march, but if we move at maximum speed, we should engage them several kilometres north of the current battle line".

"We will smash those inhuman abominations in the name of Star Colonel Nuyriev", said Jerricho, raising a fist in the air in salute.

"For the Star Colonel", echoed Steele, raising his fist alongside Alannah's.

Clearwater and Tamzarian silently raised their arms also, even though it clearly pained Risa to do so.

* * *

**Albion Palace,**  
**50km north east of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

"Guard, guard!" yelled Marshall in a panicked voice, banging frantically on the heavy wooden door.

"What is it?" came the muffled, irritated reply from the other side.

"It's the Regent! He's…I think he's having a heart attack! Call a medic…quickly!"

"Everyone move away from the door, hands in the air".

"Okay, but in Blake's name hurry!"

"Silence, heretic!"

There was a pause, then a click as the door's locking mechanism was activated. It swung open, creaking gently on slightly misaligned hinges. The pair of Manei Domini soldiers walked slowly in, weapons raised. The first looked down at the Regent, who was red-faced, fighting for breath and clutching his chest, as he twitched spasmodically on the floor.

He leaned down, more out of curiosity than anything else and half turned his head to call his partner.

"Kader, call Scharma up here. Tell her to hurry – we have a medical…"

He never got to finish the sentence, as a number of things happened in very quick succession. First, Demi-Precentor Constantinou dropped her hands and ran at him. The man's attention – and weapon - diverted, Sandringham suddenly stopped his convulsions and executed a swift, hard scissor kick, which took the guard's legs out from under him. He fell back onto the second guard, knocking him against the wall. By this time, Piotrowski had pounced on the first Blakist, concussing him with a swift kick to the head. Constantinou meanwhile, continued her charge, rugby tackling the second guard as he tried to regain his balance. Marshall followed up, helping her pin the struggling Manei Domini to the ground and kicking his weapon away.

Sandringham rolled over and jumped to his feet, grabbing the automatic rifle dropped by the first guard. By this time the second guard had already thrown the two women off and was bringing his own weapon up.

Instinctively, William triggered a burst at the Blakist's head, at least one round finding its mark. The man dropped like a puppet with its strings cut. Precentor Marshall prised the rifle out of the dead man's grip as soon as he hit the floor. He turned back to see Piotrowski in trouble, the first guard attempting to throttle him with his cybernetic hand. He raised his rifle again but Katelyn beat him to the punch. Two aimed shots to the back of the legs were enough to make him release Andrei. The guard sank slowly to the floor, uttering a vaguely inhuman cry of agony. Piotrowski followed, struggling to get his breath back. William carefully aimed his rifle at the guard's head. The man was now lying still on his back, breathing rapidly and staring straight up at him.

"I don't have to do this", he said trying hard to control his own breathing.

It was taking every ounce of control he could muster to stop his hands shaking.

"Heretic!" The man gasped, "You will burn with the rest of the infidels in Blake's cleansing fire!"

There were two loud cracks, as Sandringham pulled the trigger twice. He stared sadly at the lifeless body, wondering what could cause a human being to turn into such a monstrosity.

"Come on, sir!" called Marshall, waving urgently from the doorway. "We're bound to have attracted some attention with that little stunt. We'd better hurry!"


	53. Prey Sighted

**Epsom Plains,**  
**11km southwest of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

"Ellis to Steele, enemy sighted. They will pass our position within the next five minutes".

"Copy that Ellis. Preparing for cold start now".

His calm acknowledgement reflected the speed with which the operation had been laid on. The planning and deployment, normally done over many hours or even days, had been rushed through in less than sixty minutes. Using the data sent back by the drones, Clearwater had provided continual updates on the enemy's progress, allowing Steele and Jerricho to time their approach and intercept to the minute. They simply hadn't had time to think or worry about what they were doing.

Marcus hadn't initially wanted to include Elementals in the operation, fearing they would only impede their progress in a situation where speed was vital. Star Commander Ellis had argued vehemently against being left behind, asking at one point if Steele wished to debate the matter in a Circle of Equals. In no mood for internal squabbling, Marcus had reluctantly agreed, assigning Ellis and his troops the role of scouts.

He took his thumb off the transmit button of his radio headset and turned to look at Alannah Jerricho, who waited nearby, in the cockpit of her _Canis_. He gave her the thumbs up and she responded with an identical gesture. The pair relayed the order to go, using wrist communicators, since their neurohelmet radios were currently offline.

Cold starts were risky, as they required the mech or vehicle's reactor to go from zero to full power in under a minute, compared to the normal gradual power up over several minutes. They also bypassed the normal computer boot up process and system checks, instead going straight to a preset configuration. This had been known to cause system glitches and the rapid reactor start could also damage power conduits. Given the situation however, everyone agreed it was a risk worth taking.

Steele gave silent thanks to Kerensky as his warriors called in, one by one, reporting all systems nominal.

"Alpha Actual to all units, advance".

No further orders were necessary. The mission plan was a simple one, requiring only that unit cohesion was maintained, to make the best use of their superior firepower. Another glance to his left confirmed Jerricho and Beta Assault were also moving out.

* * *

**III-Beta, 66th Shadow Division,**  
**10km South of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

"Gamma Lead to Command, I am reading unidentified contacts to our south west. Range nine hundred and twenty metres. Estimate three Level IIs".

"Blake's Blood!" Demi-Precentor Malthus cursed as the data was relayed to his _Cerberus 5M's_ battle computer.

Alastor's orders had been explicit and deviating for any reason, would not gain him any favour with his commander. Still, he could not afford to ignore a potential…make that probable…hostile force on his flank.

"Beta Command to Omega Prime, we have probable hostile force on our western flank. Deviating from RV to investigate and eliminate".

As expected, Alastor's response was frosty, to say the least.

"I suggest you make your diversion a short one. Our withdrawal will put us at the RV point in under twenty minutes. Failure to make the rendezvous will have severe consequences".

"Understood Precentor".

"Heavy Delta to Alpha Lead, enemy sighted, preparing to engage".

Steele cursed silently. Warrior Fallon was one of the newer additions to the Cavaliers, transferred in during their last rendezvous with their overwatch team. Younger and typically more hot-headed, he had the hardest time trying to keep her aggression on a tight leash.

"Neg, Warrior Fallon. The plan requires us to maintain formation. Pull back and form up on your starmates. Do not engage until I give the order".

Minutes later Marcus' _Timber Wolf A_ crested the low line of hills they had been using as cover. The steep, uneven slope of the hills gave way to an open, grassy plain, dotted with clusters of trees. In plain sight were more than a dozen tan-and-white shapes, which he instantly recognised from the drone footage. His heart sank a little as it became obvious the element of surprise had been lost. No longer were they moving south to link up with their comrades. Instead they were standing still, facing the direction from which the Cavaliers were coming. As visual contact was made, the Blakists began moving towards them.

"Alpha Lead to all units – engage!"

As half a dozen brilliant azure particle beams flashed past him, Steele added his own ERPPCs to the barrage, targeting a large, blocky ugly-looking mech he didn't recognise, but which his _Timber Wolf's_ battle computer identified as an _Albatross_. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a pair of pale blue flashes as Warrior Fallon's _Mad Dog C_ fired its gauss rifles. A cloud of white smoke and gouts of flame announced Star Commander Nathan's presence, _his Timber Wolf Prime_ weighing in with its LRM launchers. Four mechs in the rearmost ranks all took hits, none seemingly critical.

A second _Albatross_ quickly returned fire, followed seconds later by a pair of _Grand Crusaders_, filling the air between the two sides with smoke, flame and swarms of long-range missiles. Few of the Cavalier mechs carried either ECM suites or AMS and they were forced to scatter to avoid the incoming firestorm.

However, the Blakists hadn't counted on the Cavaliers' ferocious determination and willingness to stand toe to toe with their enemy. While the Celestial class omnimechs had been designed specifically with the Manei Domini in mind and were also equipped for close-range combat, the remainder of the 66th Shadow Division was equipped with upgraded, older designs, which although superior to the originals, still suffered many of the same drawbacks.

Demi-Precentor Malthus looked on in surprise, his human eye widening and his brow creasing, as he watched the mercenaries' ranks first dissolve in the face of the True Believers' missile barrage, then reform in an almost fluid manner, continuing their advance. He had expected them to retreat when confronted with massed firepower and a headlong charge. However, his "shock and awe" tactics hadn't worked. It appeared he had misread his opponent. Worse, they seemed to have learned from their earlier encounter.

A withering barrage of particle cannon, gauss rifles and missiles answered the Blakists' opening salvoes. Instead of each warrior seeking to target an individual opponent, each Star now targeted a single enemy mech. Even as Malthus tried to gauge the Cavaliers' new tactics, he saw II-Alpha's _Battlemaster_, _Albatross_ and one of the _Grand Crusaders_ fall under three concentrated attacks. Half his assault mechs destroyed or crippled in the blink of an eye.

There was little time for further assessment, as the Cavaliers continued their headlong charge right in amongst the Blakist ranks. As well as favouring the Clan warriors' preferred face-to-face style of combat, it also greatly reduced the effectiveness of mechs armed with long range weaponry. Many of the Cavalier mechs, however, were armed with ERPPCs, one of the few ranged weapons with no minimum range, which gave them a distinct advantage.

The battle rapidly degenerated into a melee. While the Manei Domini certainly had the physical and mental capacity to be deadly infighters, they were hampered by the limitations of their machinery. In most cases their mechs were slower than those of their opponents and many lacked heavy, close-range firepower.

'_They say no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy'_, thought Malthus, as he took aim at a blue-grey _Thor_ moving rapidly across his field of vision.

He fired his _Cerberus_' gauss rifle and ERPPC, cursing as the enemy pilot activated his mech's jump jets, just as his finger tightened on the trigger. In mid-flight, the _Thor's_ pilot swung it's left arm outward, firing the LB10-X autocannon mounted there. The _Cerberus_ shuddered as a heavy solid slug impacted on its right torso. Even as he was steadying his mech from this attack, more threat warning lights lit up on his control console. Seconds later his mech reeled as it was hit from behind a volley of missiles and a pair of gauss slugs, obliterating most of his rear torso protection. Activating the rear cameras on a secondary display, he saw a _Mad Cat_ and _Vulture_ standing several hundred metres away, side-by-side. The _Mad Cat's_ missile racks were still smoking.

It took him several seconds to realise he was being singled out.

'_Have they identified me as the commander?'_ he wondered.

He was distracted from his musings by an unfamiliar mech, with a large circular antenna array over its cockpit, straying across his sights, opening fire on one of II-Beta's _Marauders_ with its particle cannon. Momentarily forgetting the threat to his rear, he loosed off a snap-shot from his ERPPC, feeling a fleeting moment of satisfaction as it struck the enemy mech on its left arm, carving an ugly black scar on its already battered blue, grey and white paintwork.

A heavily modified _Guillotine_ touched down barely two hundred metres directly in front of him, the blazing plasma trails of its jump jets scorching the ground beneath. Before its pilot had even steadied the 70-ton mech, they were already unleashing its battery of medium lasers and SRMs, chewing away more of his frontal protection.

As both his gauss and ERPPC were still recycling, he responded with a savage burst from his six medium pulse lasers, feeling the heat spike in his cockpit as he held the trigger down. The _Guillotine_ pilot lit their jumpjets again, but unleashed their own extended range particle cannon before the mech was ten metres off the ground. The blast caught his _Cerberus_ on its left shoulder but only vapourised more armour. Uttering a snarl of frustration, Malthus returned his attention to the _Mad Cat_ and _Vulture_ that had attacked him earlier, cycling through his target list until their locations flashed up on his HUD.

Alannah Jerricho gave a snarl of triumph as the Blakist _Orion's_ left elbow exploded in a shower of sparks and smoke, the lower arm falling to the ground, leaving just the mangled stump of its upper arm attached to the shoulder. The barrels of her _Canis'_ twin UAC-10 autocannon emitted their own thin trails of smoke from residual burning propellant. Her ambush had worked perfectly, jumping behind her opponent and catching them completely off guard. She had to admit that, while there was little honour in this form of combat, the freedom to use all manner of underhanded tactics did bring its own kind of satisfaction.

A glance to her left gave her further reason to smile as she watched Steele savaging a Blakist _Black Knight_ from close range. His _Timber Wolf A's_ twin ERPPCs and SRMs inflicting heavy damage. A heavy blow to the centre torso unbalanced her mech, forcing her to stagger backwards, reminding her that while her opponent was damaged, they were not out of the fight. Checking her weapons had reloaded, she turned back to the _Orion_, whose remaining arm, carrying a LB10-X autocannon, was still very much functional. She fired both her primary weapons at nearly point-blank range, straight at its damaged centre torso, blasting away its remaining armour and damaging its internal structure.

It toppled slowly backwards with all the grace of a felled tree, smoke billowing from the ragged hole in its torso. Alannah let out a victory howl and immediately began seeking out her next victim.

Marcus Steele flinched involuntarily as stray tendrils from the _Black Knight's_ particle cannon washed over his _Timber Wolf's_ nose and cockpit canopy, causing his HUD to dissolve temporarily into static. When it came back, the chin-mounted small laser on his weapons list was greyed out, indicating it was inoperative. He returned the attack with interest, loosing off a brief flurry from his trio of medium pulse lasers, following up with a salvo from his SRM launcher.

'_Nearly half my ammo gone already!'_, he noted.

His short-range weapons appeared to have little effect on the Blakist but he followed up seconds later with his twin particle cannon and was rewarded with the sight of the _Black Knight's_ left arm exploding, as the particle cannon assembly erupted in an uncontrolled release of energy. The Blakist mech rapidly lost its other arm as Star Commander Landon's _Summoner_ touched down a hundred metres to his left, unleashing a dual blast from his ERPPC and LB10-X. He raised his mech's right arm in salute, but immediately regretted his lapse in concentration when the _Black Knight_ fired its remaining chest-mounted large lasers, vapourising nearly a ton of armour from the _Summoner's_ torso.

Steele rolled his eyes and unleashed an extended volley from his pulse lasers, holding down the trigger until the heat levels in the _Timber Wolf's_ cockpit became decidedly uncomfortable. He selected his SRM launcher and followed up with a flight of short-range missiles. They struck home, punching through what remained of the Blakist's rear armour and smoke began to billow from its back. The 70-ton machine froze in place and the Cavalier pilots moved on, seeking out new targets.

Star Commander Nathan lit his _Summoner's_ jump jets as the unknown Blakist mech fired its autocannon at him, but could not avoid being hit. His finely tuned senses were able to detect the dual impact of twin slug, fired just a fraction of a second apart and he guessed it was armed with an Ultra class autocannon. Not that knowing that helped his situation. He and his Star had found themselves facing six mechs of identical design but differing configurations, he guessed they were Omnimechs of some kind. Whatever they were, his battle computer was unable to identify them, leaving him little idea of what they were facing.

He was given some respite as Warrior Casey's _Nova Prime_ jumped in behind his assailant, unleashing eight of her twelve extended range medium lasers. The unidentified mech made a ninety-degree turn and began backing away to bring them both into the pilot's field of view. Nathan unleashed his mech's "thunder-and-lightning" primary weapons, which had caused the Spheroids to christen it _Thor_, striking the Blakist squarely in the torso. Casey, meanwhile, began to track back, trying to keep it pinned between herself and Nathan. Sensing the imminent danger, the Blakist tried to turn to face her, but as he did so, her weapons finished recycling and she unleashed another eight-laser volley, which obliterated the remaining rear armour and ate into several critical systems in the mech's rear torso. The mech came to a grinding, shuddering halt with dark grey smoke pouring from its back, as overheating components finally reached combustion point.

Demi-Precentor Malthus ground his teeth in frustration as he saw how the battle had degenerated into a chaotic melee. Instead of organised, structured engagements, everywhere around him he saw one-on-one duels, two-on-one tag-team tactics and other unorthodox fighting styles. He'd expected to be able to keep them at range and pick them off with his unit's long-range weapons. Instead the enemy had charged into their midst for a toe-to-toe brawl. Worse, they seemed to be gaining the upper hand.

His targeting reticule drifted over a limping _Thor_.

'_Damned things seem to be everywhere!'_ he thought.

The index finger of his human hand tightened on the trigger of its own accord, sending a stream of charged particles and a gauss slug at the struggling enemy mech, taking its damaged leg off at the knee and sending it crashing to the ground.

As he searched for a new target, he saw his remaining _Albatross_ besieged by what appeared to be an obscenely oversized _Phoenix Hawk_ and another mech he didn't recognise. This _P-Hawk_ carried a pair of heavy autocannon, as did the other mech. They quickly tore through its armour, one lucky shot detonating its SRM ammunition. Although it was spared a fiery death thanks to its CASE, it only prolonged the inevitable. Its pilot fought back with the ferocity and determination he expected of all his troops, but as he watched, large ragged holes appeared in its torso. A shower of metal erupted from its chest and it slowly toppled over with thin grey tendrils of smoke rising from its shattered innards.

His main weapons still recycling, Malthus was too far away to avenge his fallen comrade. Instead he turned away and searched for a closer target, finding an odd-looking _Mad Cat_ stalking him on his right flank. This one had different arms and lacked the large long-range missile launchers of its primary configuration. He vented his fury on it, his sextet of medium pulse lasers burning and scarring its torso armour. Its pilot was canny enough to keep moving erratically, denying him a clear shot at its large, vulnerable cockpit.

Steele cursed himself for his stupidity, having forgotten the _Cerberus_ also packed formidable close-range firepower. He unleashed his own trio of pulse lasers and Streak short-range missiles, to give the Blakist something to think about, while he searched for a weakness to exploit with his main weapons.


	54. Domini's Downfall

**12km South of Westminster,  
Britannia**

Warrior Fallon's face was a mask of grim satisfaction as her target – one of the new mechs their computers could not identify – came to a halt with tendrils of smoke rising from the jagged hole in its right torso. Before she could even think about seeking out a new target, her _Mad Dog C_ was rocked by a salvo of long-range missiles, ravaging her mech's right flank. Her boyish features contorted in a snarl of rage as she sought out her attacker, only to find Ellis and his Elementals had beat her to the punch. Through her HUD's magnifier she could make out the small humanoid shapes, swarming the enemy, ripping off armour plating with their claws and firing their lasers, flamers and machine guns into the exposed innards.

If that weren't enough for the Blakists to deal with, her Starmates, one piloting a _Stormcrow H_, the other a _Nova Prime,_ were taking advantage of the enemy's distraction, raking them with barrages of medium and heavy laser fire, using their superior mobility to avoid the return fire directed at them.

A quick glance at her HUD told her the _Mad Dog's_ gauss rifles were already low on ammo. Running short of supplies, the Cavaliers' techs had done the best they could, replacing what they could, repairing what couldn't be swapped out, making patch repairs to any chassis damage and carefully allocating what remaining ammo they had. Fallon had gone out with twelve rounds for each of her weapons, knowing she would have to make them all count. She was down to half that now. She hated the thought of having to withdraw from the field but with no other weapons, she and her mech were no use to anyone without ammunition.

Cycling through her target list, she found a _Marauder_ six hundred metres to her northwest. Allowing her training to take over, she guided her glowing green crosshairs over the distant image, her hands and feet working the throttle, pedals and torso controls to keep track of her target. The crosshairs flashed gold, indicating the _Mad Dog's_ fire control system had target lock. A millisecond later her index finger squeezed the joystick's primary trigger. The 65-ton mech shuddered slightly from the recoil as its paired gauss rifles sent a quarter of a ton of nickel-ferrous death at hypersonic speed towards the enemy.

Fallon gave a small yelp of triumph as her HUD's magnified view showed both slugs impacting on the _Marauder's_ left shoulder, severing the arm completely. The Blakist mech sagged to the right, unbalanced by the sudden loss of several tons. As it turned to face her, it was set upon by the _Grizzly_ and _Guillotine IIC_ of Beta Assault. A blizzard of ruby darts from the _Grizzly's_ arm-mounted pulse lasers crazed the cockpit canopy. A blinding particle cannon bolt from the _Guillotine_ punched through the damaged ferroglass. It then delivered the coup de grace, a salvo of SRMs utterly destroying the cockpit interior.

Malthus listened with impotent rage as the radio net came alive with calls for assistance from II-Gamma. His anger was tempered by the knowledge that every moment they were delayed by these barbarian infidels, was a moment longer he was failing Precentor Alastor. However, as much as he might wish or expect otherwise, it was clear the enemy was gaining the upper hand.

As he tried to think of a way out of this predicament, he again lined up his crosshairs on the _Mad Cat_ to his right and unleashed his main weapons. To his annoyance, his opponent skilfully sidestepped at the last moment. While his ERPPC carved a blackened scar into its right arm, the slug from his gauss rifle missed.

Just as he was lining up his sights again, his _Cerberus_ was rocked by a salvo of missiles from the left flank. Turning to face his attacker, he saw another _Mad Cat_, this one in its familiar primary configuration, approaching from the west. It began to circle, getting ready to dodge the expected return fire. As Malthus was adjusting his aim, his mech shuddered under yet another volley of fire which impacted on his right arm and torso.

"Warning: damage critical", chimed his battle computer.

On his HUD, his gauss rifle had greyed out, as had his right torso on his armour display, while his right arm flashed red.

It momentarily crossed his mind to call for help, but just as quickly he dismissed the thought.

'_I am Manei Domini. I am one of Blake's Chosen'._

Another assault from the _Mad Cat_ to his left shook his mech. More alarms sounded. His control console was lit up like a Christmas tree with warning lights. Oddly though, a glance at his weapons display told him his gauss rifle was now back on line.

Demi-Precentor Sigma Malthus turned to face his tormentor, tying both main weapons to his primary trigger, ignoring the fire coming from the enemy closing from his rear. His sights glided across the centre torso of the enemy mech, flashing gold. He squeezed the trigger.

"Blake Elesion!"

His defiant shout over III-Beta's general frequency was heard by all his troops. They took his rallying call as intended, an order to fight to the death.

The ERPPC / gauss rifle combo punched through the remaining armour and destroyed the _Mad Cat's_ gyroscope, sending it crashing to the ground, the pilot no longer able to control the machine's balance.

Steele cursed yet again as he saw Warrior Elander's _Timber Wolf Prime_ fall, a large jagged hole in its centre torso. He had begun combining traditional Clan curses with the Inner Sphere profanities he'd picked up, creating a whole new range of swearing.

He checked his main weapons had recharged, lined up his crosshairs on the rear torso of the _Cerberus_ that had brought Elander down and fired from a range of less than three hundred metres. The twin ERPPC bolts tore through its armour, eating into the internal structure. As he continued to close the range, his thumb pressed down on the joystick's missile button and six Streak SRMs homed in on the critically wounded Blakist mech.

"Ammunition depleted", chimed his battle computer.

By way of confirmation, the SRM launcher flashed red on his HUD weapons display.

As luck would have it, one missile entered the gaping hole created by the particle cannon and detonated deep within the mech's innards, destroying the gyro and damaging all manner of other critical systems. The _Cerberus_ slowly toppled forward, impacting heavily on the ground, the force shattering the cockpit.

There was no ejection.

As ordered, the Blakists continued to fight, but with only seven operational mechs to the Cavaliers' round dozen, there was only ever going to be one outcome. Deprived of most of their assault unit in the opening stages of the battle, they were not only outnumbered, but also out-gunned. Even their technical superiority no longer gave them an edge against the Clan warriors, who despite tiring minds and bodies, were spurred on by their focused fury, determined to exact revenge for their fallen. The honour and glory to be won in destroying these cybernetic abominations only served to heighten their bloodlust.

The Manei Domini fought ferociously, but the Cavaliers, like their Clan totem, grabbed their prey by the throat and shook the life out of it, not letting up until the last Blakist mech lay immobile on the ground.

Marcus Steele surveyed the carnage with some measure of satisfaction. His _Timber Wolf_ was missing its right arm and the screeching and grinding of the damaged leg actuator were detectable, even in the cockpit. The suffocating temperature was slowly beginning to drop, making it easier to breathe. Exhausted and sweat-soaked, he nevertheless allowed himself to revel in the exhilaration of victory hard won.

"Marcus, we should leave before the others show up. We are in no fit state for further combat". Alannah Jerricho's voice broke into his reverie.

He looked over at her battered, limping _Canis_, the ragged holes all over its torso bearing silent testimony to the ferocity of her own fighting. Glancing round, it was clear the rest of the Cavaliers were not in much better shape.

"You are right. We should head back to the Den. Ellis should have completed his search for survivors by now".

"Omega Prime to Beta Command, report".

Alastor paused to fire a snapshot from his Heavy PPC at an enemy mech that was raking him with small-calibre autocannon fire, slowly whittling away his torso armour. His enhanced reflexes, combined with the _Archangel's_ neural interface, meant even hasty shots usually hit their mark and this was no exception.

"Alastor to Malthus, do you copy?"

"Blake's Blood!" Alastor swore to himself at the continued silence on the other end of the com link.

"You don't suppose that _diversion_ led to a _dead_ end?" enquired Swindelli, intruding on the Domini officer's private thoughts yet again.

"Command to any III-Beta unit, respond!" Alastor continued, ignoring the irritating _Frail's_ interruption.

The interlopers were continuing to drive them north towards the city and while they'd so far kept them at arm's length, an urban battle would be a savage, close quarters affair. Though the prospect of it held no fears for him, he was running out of troops to carry the fight.

"Damn you Malthus, where are you?" he muttered to himself.

They were now less than a kilometre from the rendezvous point and there was still no sign of the reinforcements from III-Beta.

"Looks like he may have been permanently delayed". It was Swindelli again. "I'm still seeing nothing on sensors and…oh crap…"

"What is it?" snapped Alastor, now fully attentive.

"Bearing Zero Two Eight, maximum magnification", Swindelli replied, suddenly subdued.

Through their HUD magnifiers, columns of smoke, in varying shades of grey, were clearly visible. Slowly rising into the sky and merging to form a thick pall, less than two kilometres away, they marked the graves of Malthus and half of True Believers III-Beta.

"I am starting to believe this world is cursed".

Swindelli's eyebrows raised on hearing that. It was a very un-Domini like statement. He wondered briefly if Alastor was beginning to lose his mind. It was by no means unheard of for their cybernetic implants to malfunction, crippling or even killing their recipients. Or in other cases, merely sending them mad.

"How do you mean?"

How do I mean? How about enemies our computers do not recognise and who are far harder to destroy than any we have encountered before. How about our reinforcements being utterly destroyed by a phantom enemy that appears to strike at will, then disappear just as quickly?"

"I think it's a little late to be worrying about phantom enemies".

An ERPPC bolt grazed his _Deva's_ left torso and he fired his trio of Light PPCs in retaliation at the black-and-grey _Thug_ that had been sniping at him from behind a stand of trees.

"However, I do have a plan, if you're interested".

"I am listening".

"Well, its quite simple really…as all the best ideas are. You get on the horn to the Fury and request an extraction. Call down an orbital strike, while there's still some distance between us and the enemy. While they're running for cover, we break contact and head straight for the nearest suitable drop site. I spotted one about four or five klicks east of here on the way in. The Fury keeps bringin' the rain until our rides arrive, then we get the heck out of here, regroup and figure out our next move. How's that sound?"

Swindelli glanced over in Alastor's direction, just in time to see his _Archangel_ hit by a flight of LRMs. The 100-ton behemoth appeared to shrug them off, but the hit evidently gave the Manei Domini Precentor pause for thought.

"And what of the rest of the Division?"

"What of it? Between them, whats left of III-Beta and Gamma amount to less than a Level III. We came to face these mystery mercs with a full strength unit and got driven back. On top of that there's the guerrilla force that did for Malthus. If we try and get everyone out, we'll just get destroyed piecemeal. I don't like it any more than you do Alastor, but we need to look out for number one now".

In fact, Swindelli couldn't have cared less what happened to the others, as long as he escaped with his own ass intact. Alastor was quick to make him rethink though.

"Precentor Jadis will report on this to St Jamais. You know as well as I that neither are tolerant of failure".

'_Oh crap!'_ Swindelli hadn't taken those minor details into account.

"Okay, we'll take some heat from Jadis, but we still have time to figure out another way to crack this nut. We still have forces in reserve for starters. How much more aid can Sandringham call on to defend this rock?"

He broke off as his mech was struck by a flight of missiles, further chewing away at the armour on his left arm and torso. He slowed and lined up his crosshairs on an enemy _Mauler_ that was dogging him. An Alpha strike of all three Light PPCs and gauss rifle severed it's right arm at the elbow.

"That is an unknown and something which concerns me", Alastor replied, "But your suggestion of an orbital bombardment is a good one. It will teach these heretics the price of defying the Will of Blake".

"Wait a second, I never meant…" Swindelli began, only to find himself abruptly cut off.


	55. Fire From the Heavens

**_WBS_ Righteous Fury,**  
**_Geosynchronous Orbit, Britannia,  
__Britannic Coalition_**

"Precentor Alastor to the Righteous Fury, requesting immediate extraction from the following co-ordinates, uploading drop site as Nav Point Omega".

The Adept at the bridge comms console jumped, suddenly fully alert, as the Manei Domini's unnerving voice sounded in her headset.

"Also requesting orbital strikes at the following co-ordinates. Target designations Rho, Sigma and Tau".

The comms tech spun her chair to face her commander. "Demi-Precentor Mireau, Precentor Alastor is requesting extraction and orbital fire support. Sending locations now".

Her fingers danced over her keyboard, sending the data to her superior's terminal.

Suranne Mireau felt her mouth go dry and her heart skip a beat. What on earth could the Manei Domini have encountered, for Precentor Alastor to be requesting evacuation?

"Comms, send word to Flight Control and have them dispatch an Overlord to the designated drop site. Helm, bring us round to bearing Two Zero Five and present port side for orbital bombardment. Weapons, prepare port side batteries, sending target data now".

The low buzz of chatter on the bridge grew noticeably louder and Suranne felt the deck begin to tilt, heard the muted rumble of the engines become slightly louder, as the crew executed her orders.

* * *

**_10km South of Westminster,  
__Britannia_**

Jeff cursed as his snapshot at the Blakist _Legacy_ missed wide, its pilot anticipating his attack and returning fire with its twin LRM launchers, after two of his Light PPCs had obliterated the comms relay tower it had been hiding behind. The _Behemoth's_ laser AMS hummed into life, unleashing a flurry of ruby darts, detonating around half of them mid-flight. The rest impacted on the massive machine's torso and arms. Armour damage was still not critical, but he would rather not take any more hits like that.

He tied the other two particle cannon, plus his AGR to the main trigger and took more careful aim.

"Yippee kai-yay, mothertrucker", he muttered, squeezing the trigger.

The mech shuddered under the assault gauss rifle's violent recoil, as the quarter-ton projectile left the barrel at hypersonic speed.

The paired particle beams struck first, vapourising over half a ton of armour from its right torso. Seconds later the gauss round struck, shattering the remaining armour and punching through to its internals. The first explosion told him his shot had found an ammo bin. Most of the force was dissipated through the blow-out panels of the mech's CASE system, but a chain reaction of secondary explosions told him it was still heavily laden with ammo and that adjacent ammo bins had been sufficiently damaged to detonate the missiles stored there. The _Legacy's_ entire right side disintegrated as multiple explosions tore through it. The mech slowly toppled onto its left side, impacting hard on the ground, burying about a metre of itself in the soft dirt.

Any sense of satisfaction he might have got from his latest kill was dampened by his frustration at the Blakists' tactics. He had been expecting a stand-up fight. Instead they had fought a mobile, long range battle, which had resulted in little serious damage being inflicted by either side.

'_Are they trying to draw us into a trap?'_

The thought had barely formed in his mind when an emerald bolt of light lanced down from the sky, impacting just a few hundred metres in front of him, throwing up a curtain of dirt and steam. Seconds later it was followed by azure beams of man-made lightning, striking the ground with even heavier impacts. From behind came the distant thunder of explosions, the reverberations transmitting to his hands and feet.

"Grimlock to all units, disengage and fall back!", Baker radioed, recognising the danger.

As he looked on, the Blakists simply turned and ran, heading east at maximum throttle.

"Sons of bitches!"

The shockwave of a nearby detonation rocked the _Behemoth_. Seconds later it was pelted with falling debris, the smaller stones sounding like ball-bearings on a tin roof, while the larger rocks sound like autocannon impacts. With no enemy left to face, he shoved the throttle from reverse to full forward, stomping the foot pedals and wrenching the joystick to bring the lumbering 100-ton beast around as fast as possible. A quick glance around the landscape showed the Blakists' orbital bombardment laying waste to the once pristine countryside, smoke and fountains of debris obscuring his vision.

"Grimlock to all units, make for the LZ, max throttle! I'm getting us a ride out of here!"

He didn't wait for acknowledgement before switching channels.

* * *

**_Dropship_ Surrey,**  
**_Dinochrome LZ,  
__50km Southeast of Westminster,  
__Britannia_**

Commander Janine Saunders jumped out of her makeshift den behind the flight deck as the radio crackled to life, leaping into the pilot's seat and grabbing her headset.

"Grimlock to Blackhawk Zero!"

"Zero here. What can I do for you Major?"

"I need you to get your cute behind over our way right now. Bloody Robes decided to bring the rain and they're scouring the battleground with an orbital strike".

"You expect me to fly a multi-billion C-bill dropship into the middle of that?"

"Not at all sweetheart. I want you to RV with us at the Blakist LZ – uploading co-ordinates now".

"Roger that".

Saunders scanned the data appearing on the MFD then punched some buttons to transfer it into the navigation computer. It took a few seconds to crunch the numbers before plotting a flight path and travel time.

"Okay, ETA twenty minutes. I'll have the galley whip up some coffee before we land".

"Now I remember why I like flying with you so much, Commander. You really know how to look after your passengers".

* * *

**_WoB Drop Site,  
__15km Southeast of Westminster_**

Adept Purcell took a moment to glance out of the cockpit's side window as his co-pilot throttled up the engines to three-quarters of full thrust, slowing them down for their final approach. The scene was quite spectacular, as the _Righteous Fury's_ bombardment continued, her naval lasers and particle cannon illuminating the low cloud layer, before breaking through to strike the ground.

The ground appeared to be coming up to meet them a lot quicker than he'd normally be comfortable with, but their orders had been very clear on the matter. They were to perform a hot evac and enemy contact was a distinct possibility. This demanded the quickest landing and dust-off that could safely be carried out.

"Five hundred metres, approach angle good, scans clear of hostiles. Touchdown in sixty seconds", intoned the co-pilot.

"Copy that", Purcell responded distractedly.

The noise and vibration increased as its engines struggled against gravity to bring the eleven thousand ton vessel to a controlled landing.

"One hundred metres. Landing struts deployed. Scans still negative, threat board clear".

The _Overlord_ slowed to a near-hover, slowly dropping below the treeline, obscuring Purcell's view of the man-made energy storm that still raged just a few kilometres west. Less than half a minute later it touched down with a heavier-than-normal jolt, settling slightly as the struts took its weight. All over the ship, the crew sprang into action, manning its weapons and opening the bay doors, ready to receive their guests.

The thunder and vibration of the bombardment receded to a dull rumble as Alastor guided his mech into the shallow valley, whose sides were swathed in trees. The floor was thankfully clear, giving them a straight run to the dropship, which was already visible as a distant grey egg-shape at the far end. A quick check of his sensor readouts showed no sign of pursuit…not that he'd expected any.

"Omega Prime to Constant Light, we are inbound, ETA two minutes".

"Copy that Omega Prime. Bays are open, ramps are down and we are ready to lift off as soon as you're aboard".

* * *

**_66th Shadow Division LZ,  
__25km South of Westminster_**

"Jesus H Christ – look at the mess down there!"

From the co-pilot's seat, Lieutenant Amelia Beauchamp looked down in wonder at the scene of destruction below them.

"Looks like Major Baker and his troops went through the Robes like a vibroblade through tinfoil", Commander Saunders agreed, switching her attention between searching for a safe place to land and admiring the destruction the Dinochromes had wrought on the Blakists.

She eased the throttle up a fraction and set the aerodyne craft's control surfaces to provide more lift, skimming over a line of low hills that marked the edge of the landing zone.

"Scans?"

"All clear, Commander. No contacts and no EM emissions aimed at us. Looks like a good place to set her down. Shall I deploy landing gear?"

"Do it – this is close enough", replied Saunders, setting her sights on a relatively flat patch of ground on the far side of the hills. It would give them a good view of anyone approaching, friendly or otherwise.

The moment the _Surrey's_ landing struts touched ground, she activated the radio.

"Blackhawk Zero to Grimlock, your ride awaits. Had to put down just outside the LZ…you and your guys made too much of a mess in there. Scans are clear – should be an easy stroll back".

"Glad to hear it Commander. ETA five minutes, hope you've got that coffee ready".


	56. Capture the Flag

**_Albion Palace,  
__50km north east of Westminster,  
__Britannia_**

"Sir, Are you sure you know which way the armoury is?" asked Constantinou, staring in confusion at the sight that confronted them.

Sandringham sighed. "Okay, I admit its been a while since I was last down here, but if you just give me a minute to think, I'm pretty sure I'll remember".

"Every minute we spend down here is another minute the Blakists have to discover we've gone and raise the alarm", pointed out Piotrowski.

The small group of escapees stood at a crossroads, with four unmarked passageways leading off in different directions. They had just exited the one leading in a general easterly direction. Now it was a question of where to go from here. The Regent stood right in the middle, eyes screwed shut in concentration, muttering to himself and hands moving vaguely from side to side.

"Even if they do, what are they going to do about it?" asked Marshall. "If the Regent is correct about the Robes not knowing about these passages, we'll just have vanished into thin air, as far as they're concerned".

"Okay – got it", announced William, before anyone could comment further.

He pointed at the passage leading north, "We go that way".

He proceeded to lead the way, ignoring the quizzical looks from one or two other members of the party. They walked about half a mile in almost total silence, the intermittent bulkhead-style lighting and stuffy air contributing to an oppressive atmosphere. Every so often they would pass a sturdy-looking ferrosteel door set into the rock, identified only by an alphanumeric code and fitted with an electronic keypad. Eventually the tunnel began to rise upward and narrowed until they had to walk in single file. The passageway ended in yet another anonymous looking door. Sandringham stood, looking thoughtful for a moment, before tapping a passcode into the keypad. He gave an audible sigh of relief as the red glow of the backlighting changed to a friendlier green colour. The whine of electric motors and loud metallic clunks indicated the opening of heavy duty locking mechanisms. He pulled the door open and stepped inside. After a moment's hesitation, the others followed. Sandringham grinned as he took in their expressions of amazement.

Unlike the bare rock of the passageways, the interior of the armoury had been lined with ferrocrete, giving it a smooth, clean, almost clinical appearance. Signs hung from the ceiling, indicating the purpose of the control console underneath. On the left and right-hand walls, stairways led up to the second floor, which appeared to be mainly used for storage. Directly ahead of them was an armoured door, which the others assumed was the location of the surface access point. In the centre was a horseshoe-shaped command console, with banks of flat-screen monitors lining the top of each side. There were additional, larger screens mounted on the walls. The room hummed quietly with the flow of electricity, complemented by the soft whir of fans, both from the equipment's cooling systems and the environmental controls.

"Like it?" the Regent asked, spreading his arms to take in the whole room.

"Well, its impressive, but I thought this was an armoury?" said Marshall.

"Through here", William replied, nodding towards the door.

The next room was roughly the same size has the control room, but the walls were lined with weapon racks, carrying everything from handguns, assault rifles and grenades, to heavier support weaponry such as machine guns, mortars and RPG launchers. Each rack or case was heavily built and secured with a keypad lock. In one particularly small box was what looked for all the world like a remote control unit.

"Whats that for?" asked Piotrowski, pointing at it.

"Ah, another rare moment of genius on my part", said Sandringham. "The major weakness of most defensive emplacements is that if the enemy breaches the perimeter, they're free to run riot inside. I decided I didn't want that happening here".

The Regent walked over to the case and punched a code into the keypad. The door swung open silently and he retrieved the remote. He pointed the device at the left-hand bank of racks and pressed a button. The red lights on all the locks changed to green. He did the same with the right-hand bank.

"Okay, go and pick whatever takes your fancy. I would just say that the heavier stuff probably isn't the most appropriate for indoor combat".

The others quickly walked along the racks and picked out an assortment of weapons they felt comfortable with. The Regent gave an exasperated sigh when he saw Piotrowski return with an RPG launcher slung over his shoulder and the tips of half a dozen rounds poking out of a satchel, in addition to the assault rifle in his hands. Constantinou had likewise ignored his advice and was toting a machine gun, using the shoulder sling to support its weight. She also had an assault rifle slung over her other shoulder.

"Okay, back over here", he said, waving the others toward him.

"What was that bit of genius you were talking about?" asked Marshall.

"You're about to find out".

He pointed the remote at the ceiling and pushed another button. There was the whine of electric motors as four automated gun turrets descended from their recesses. Their barrels swung up from their downward position and they began tracking randomly as they searched for targets.

"There's another set of these babies in the vehicle bay through the door over there".

"Okay, now I'm feeling really uncomfortable".

"Don't worry, I've left the motion trackers off", Sandringham said, waving the controller at her. "They won't fire without a target".

"Uh-huh. And what happens if they malfunction?"

"Well, that's why I've got us right by the door".

He pushed a button and they retracted back into the roof.

"Okay, now you've seen some of the toys, lets get back to business".

They headed back to the control centre and Sandringham took up station at the large U-shaped central console.

"Now, if I can just remember the password", he said, staring thoughtfully at the console.

After a few moments he tapped in a code and the screens lining the top of the console flashed from their Coalition insignia screensaver, with password box, to the system desktop. With the touch screen capability now activated, he tapped an icon on the screen, digging through the menu system until he came to the control application for the palace's automated defence system.

"Ha! They didn't bother changing the password…stupid sods!"

He moved more icons around on the screen, opening new windows, then started tapping on the keyboard again.

"That ought to fix their wagon", he muttered, some of his earlier anger returning now that they were on the verge of extracting some measure of vengeance.

"We have control now?" asked Constantinou.

"We most certainly do…and best of all the toaster worshippers can't do a thing about it now", he said grinning nastily, "Well, not without wiping the system core and doing a full rebuild".

"I had no idea you were such a tech head, sir", said Marshall, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not really, I just made a point of learning about this particular system. My PA still has to help me with my office computer on a regular basis", he said sheepishly.

He turned back to the bank of screens and began moving icons, opening folders and pushing virtual buttons.

"Okay, lets see what we can see".

Images of the palace grounds and buildings began flashing up on the monitors, as the Regent took manual control of the security cameras.

"That's where they're holding the rest of the prisoners!", said Marshall pointing at a monitor.

"Are you sure?" William asked, turning to stare at her.

"They didn't exactly try to keep it a secret, Will".

Sandringham feverishly tapped more icons on the main monitor and a plan of the palace grounds came up, overlaid with a schematic of the bunker and the defence network.

"Damn", he muttered as he scanned the screen for possibilities. "The Robes may be crazy, but they're not stupid".

He stepped back and pointed at the screen, "They chose a first floor room with no adjacent entrances or exits. We're not going to be able to break them out of there. Someone's going to have to go back and bring them out".

There was a few seconds' hesitation before Piotrowski put his hand up, "I'll do it".

He gave the briefest nod to acknowledge the risk he was going to run.

Sandringham returned the nod – a silent salute to Andrei's courage. He turned back to the console, took a memory card from a cubby hole, plugged it in and downloaded the on-screen data.

"Upload this to your noteputer", he said, unplugging the card and handing it to Piotrowski, "It'll help you find your way around, as well as alternate routes if the Blakists try to cut you off".

"Don't worry, sir", Andrei said, following the Regent's instructions, "I'll get our guys out of there, come hell or high water".

"Hopefully we'll be able to make it a lot easier for you", William said, turning back to the console and deftly tapping more icons, opening more windows on the main monitor. "I think between us we should be able to arrange quite a distraction…et voilá".

On the main display, the schematic diagram of the palace defences flashed from red to green and small boxes appeared next to each of the turrets, containing data on their status, ammo loads, target lists etc. The latter for each currently read zero.

"What do you have in mind, sir?" asked Marshall.

"Well, what I thought…"

Just then the room lighting flickered and computer screens went blank for a split second, before coming back on.

"What was that?" wondered Constantinou.

"Standby generator", said William instantly, "Someone tried to cut the power to the bunker".

"Look!" said Katelyn, pointing at one of the camera screens.

The others followed her gaze with a collective knotting of their stomachs. First one, then three, then half a dozen and finally all the camera monitors showed Blakist troops, moving cautiously in search teams, or running to man guard posts.

"Crap. I'd hoped it would take them longer to find out. Well, now that our cover's blown, we just have to pull our fingers out."

Piotrowski left without another word.

"Good luck!" Marshall called to him.

"Right, you sons of bitches, lets see how you like this", Sandringham said, staring intently at the main monitor, now using the keyboard to issue commands to the turret control system.

"Its showtime!".

With a final few flourishes, he stepped back so the others could observe. As they watched, the turret icons began blinking and data began scrolling through the boxes next to each one as the system went active. On the camera monitors, the previously static _Calliope_ turrets arrayed along the perimeter suddenly began swivelling, searching for targets. On other monitors, smaller laser turrets rose from their concealed positions throughout the grounds, their sensors probing the area for a three hundred metre radius.

It didn't take long for all hell to break loose.

The laser turrets began targeting the Word of Blake patrols and soon ruby lances were criss-crossing the grounds, sending them scurrying for the nearest cover. One squad, caught out in the open, was cut to ribbons by the crossfire from two turrets.

"Hah! That's right you bastards – run!"

He quickly sobered up as he realised there would be a hefty price to pay.

"I'm going to have to get the builders back in after this".

That realisation was reinforced as the Manei Domini foot soldiers began to fight back. On one screen there were two silent explosions, one throwing up a shower of dirt, the other a shower of debris as a turret was destroyed. Its corresponding icon on the defence grid display winked out.

Two peals of distant thunder rumbled faintly through the walls of the bunker.

"What was that?" said Constantinou.

"Didn't take them long to figure us out", replied Sandringham grimly. "Clever boys", he said to the figures on the screens.

"Sounded like RPGs or mortars", said Marshall

"Just how strong did you build this place?" Constantinou again.

"Oh, we'll be okay for a while, but it won't hold forever. Better get locked and loaded ladies and gents. We've got a fight on our hands".


	57. Liberation

**Albion Palace,  
25km Northeast of Westminster,  
Britannia**

Andrei Piotrowski was already regretting his decision to play the hero. While navigating the subterranean tunnel network back to the main building had been a breeze, on arriving back at the palace, he'd found himself in the middle of the kind of chaos that only occurs when a supposedly secure military installation finds itself under a surprise attack. He'd been forced to take temporary refuge in the very room they'd escaped from – the last place anyone would look for an escaped prisoner, he'd thought.

Once the area was clear, he pulled out his noteputer, opened the file Regent Sandringham had uploaded and tried to figure out where he was in relation to the prisoners. It turned out that while they were being held on the same floor, their room was almost at the opposite end of the palace. That meant several hundred metres of corridors to navigate, potentially with a Blakist around every corner. He steeled himself. There were a lot of people counting on him. He checked his assault rifle and sidearm. Both had full magazines and were locked and ready.

"Alright, lets do this".

Thumbing the safety off his assault rifle, he began to advance quickly and quietly down the corridor and around the corner from the hidden access point to the tunnel network. He froze as he saw a crimson jump-suited figure at the far end. He held his breath and raised his weapon, taking aim. The Blakist trooper turned left and exited. If he'd heard Andrei's approach, he'd given no sign. Allowing himself to breathe again, he lowered his rifle and continued his advance, straining his ears for any sound of approaching footsteps. It wasn't easy. Despite the palace's solid construction, faint rumbles of explosions and muted sounds of weapons fire still came through the walls. As luck would have it, another soldier turned into the corridor just as he'd passed the halfway point. With no convenient doorway to duck into his options were limited to precisely one. The Blakist looked up, her eyes widening in surprise and her hand bringing up the pistol she was holding. Strands of golden hair were visible under the hooded robe she wore. Andrei groaned inwardly, even as he raised his own weapon.

A single shot to the chest was enough to bring her down, but her cry of pain and the sound of the shot would have alerted the rest of the guards. Even knowing the danger he was in, he couldn't help kneeling beside the young woman. She was staring up at the ceiling, her breathing rapid and shallow, her beautiful face ashen. Unusually, she had no visible prosthetics or implants, although markings which looked like blue circuitry, curving above her right eye and part way down her cheek told him she'd had some work done on her. In a strange way it served to enhance her beauty. With a shake of his head, he retrieved her pistol and used his combat knife to cut a long strip from her robe, tying the makeshift bandage tightly round her chest, using another piece of robe as padding to help staunch the wound. Her comrades would find her soon enough.

"Don't worry, you'll live", he said quietly, briefly stroking her head.

Her eyes turned to look at him, her expression one of pained puzzlement.

For reasons he couldn't fathom, Andrei felt compelled to smile and wink at her.

"You can thank me later, kiddo".

The sound of running, the heavy thump of combat boots on parquet flooring, brought his mind back to the mission at hand. Unslinging his rifle and thumbing the safety once more, he crept to the doorway and inched his way around, looking up and down the adjoining corridor. The sounds were getting louder, but it was hard to tell which direction they were coming from…it sounded like all of them. He checked the map on his noteputer and saw he needed to go straight ahead. He cleared the corridor that ran perpendicular to his in a single bound and began making his way to the other end, keeping himself pressed up against the walls to minimise his visibility. He checked the map again. According to that he was less than two hundred metres away from the prisoner holding area.

Suddenly, he heard shouts in the corridor he'd just left. He dived behind a convenient buttress in the wall that just about hid him from view. A second later gunfire echoed along the corridor and he heard bullets thudding into the walls, chips of wood, plaster and masonry flew where they hit.

He crouched, stuck his gun arm out from behind cover and squeezed off a few short bursts. While fighting in confined spaces had its drawbacks, the one good thing was that the enemy was as restricted as you were. He heard satisfying cries of pain and the clatter of weapons and bodies hitting the floor, but quickly ducked back against the wall as more gunfire was directed at him. Splinters flew from the edge of the buttress and he rapidly came to the conclusion that remaining where he was, was a bad idea.

This was confirmed when a grenade rolled slowly down the corridor and came to a stop just a few feet away. Diving from cover, he snatched it up and hurled it back from whence it had come and ran to his next hiding place, a recessed doorway.

An explosion, deafening in these confines and screams, told him the grenade had done its work. With dust and debris still choking the corridor, an idea struck him. He leapt from cover and slowly made his way through the cloud to where the Blakist troops had been. Their torn and bloodied bodies lay like rag dolls tossed away by their owner. Andrei helped himself to another assault rifle, ammunition and also grabbed a few grenades from their combat vests. He looked across at the opposite corridor, but could see no sign of the girl he'd shot.

Switching directions, he jogged back down the corridor, both rifles cocked and loaded. Stealth seemed pointless now. More heavy footfalls and more shouts announced the arrival of another squad of guards. He stopped by another door and tried it before shooting the lock and kicking it open. Just at that moment the Blakists appeared at the far entrance. Piotrowski blazed away with both rifles on full auto, spraying bullets liberally in their general direction, causing them to dive for cover, their body armour absorbing the rounds that did find their mark.

Andrei dropped one rifle and grabbed another grenade, yanking the pin with his teeth and holding it for a second longer than the recommended count…he didn't want to have his own trick played on him. He hurled it and ducked into the room he'd forced open. This time, the detonation didn't leave his ears ringing. Unfortunately, the guards had been smart enough to find cover of their own.

As he stepped through the doorway, onto a wide landing, with a broad elegant staircase, leading to the ground floor, his instincts kicked in and he dropped into a crouch, just before his peripheral vision caught sight of a guard on either side, their weapons at the ready. The crossfire, intended to cut him down, ended up knocking both guards off their feet, although their body armour once again saved them from serious injury. Having dropped his rifle, Andrei drew his side arm, gritting his teeth at what he was about to do. As a tank commander, he was more accustomed to doing his killing from a distance. As they lay on the ground, stunned and in pain, he stood over first one, then the other, firing a shot into the forehead of each man.

As he despatched the second guard, he heard the crack of gunfire and felt a searing pain in his right side. He dropped to one knee, gasping in agony and looked around, trying to see where the fire had come from. More shots whistled past his head and brief flashes of muzzle fire told him the remaining guards were at the bottom of the stairs. Painfully getting down on his belly, he crawled over to where his rifle lay, rolled over and inched back towards the staircase. Poking the rifle over the edge of the stairs, he fired a couple of bursts in their direction, to keep their heads down, while he retrieved another grenade. This time, after tossing it down the stairs, he waited several seconds, then unleashed several more rifle bursts. A scream of agony told him he'd found one target. The hail of return fire told him he'd missed the other. He rolled to the opposite side of the stairway and this time aimed at the guard's feet.

The man collapsed with an agonised cry, dropping his weapon. Andrei used the railings to haul himself to his feet and limped down the stairs, keeping his weapon trained on the guard. In too much discomfort and too much of a hurry to tie the man up, he settled for relieving him of his weapons and communications devices.

He pulled his noteputer out again. The screen was now fractured, but the device was still functioning. According to the map, the room he wanted was the first left at the top of the stairs.

It was naturally locked. He banged on the door to alert the occupants.

"Andrei Piotrowski of the House Guard, I'm here to get you out. Is everyone okay in there?"

"Mikael Forssell, three beta of the two hundred and first", came the muffled reply, "We're okay, but they took our injured somewhere else. How in Blake's name did…"

"Stand back, I'm going to shoot the lock!"

Andrei had quickly sized up the doors to the holding room. In keeping with the palace's interior décor, they were made of an exotic hardwood, with simple, tasteful panelling and large brass doorknobs. Instead of the expected coded, electromagnetic lock, there was a low-tech keyhole. Evidently the Blakists hadn't anticipated an attempted breakout…but then why would they?

Taking careful aim, he fired several short bursts from his assault rifle, gradually eating away at the wood surrounding the lock. When it looked suitably weakened, he aimed a hard kick, splintering the remaining wood holding the mechanism in place and forcing it clean through the other side. The large doors swung inward with a faint creak.

On the far side of what turned out to be a large lounge, furnished in a minimalist style, were over a dozen men and women. Some carried minor injuries and their uniforms appeared the worse for wear, but otherwise they seemed unharmed.

One strode forward immediately to identify himself.

"Demi Precentor Mikael Forssell. My troops and I are indebted to you". He cocked his head slightly to one side, "How on earth did you get past all the guards?"

"It's a long story", Piotrowski replied abruptly, "And one we don't have time for right now. You said they were holding your wounded elsewhere?"

"That's right, but we don't know where".

"In that case", said Andrei, stepping out onto the landing and gesturing at the dead guards, "I suggest you arm yourselves and start sweeping the building".

"But…"

"Don't worry, the Robes have bigger problems to deal with right now. Most of them will be outside in the grounds".

A distant rumble of thunder and sounds of weapons fire filtered through to them and Forssell nodded in understanding.

"You're mounting a rescue op?"

"The Regent is. And its not a rescue mission as such…he just wants his palace back".


	58. The Late Show

**Command Bunker,**  
**Albion Palace,**  
**25km Northeast of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

"Dammit, they've taken out another one!"

The Regent slammed a palm against the console in frustration. The Blakists had proven surprisingly – and annoyingly – adept at adapting to their predicament. The sudden activation of the laser turrets had taken them by surprise, catching many in open ground and the Manei Domini troops had initially taken heavy losses. However, they'd quickly gone to ground, finding cover in the numerous niches, nooks and crannies that were beyond the reach of the turrets. It hadn't taken them long to go on the offensive either, the surviving squads systematically targeting one turret at a time. Now over half the turrets were either destroyed or disabled, giving the Blakists a clear run at the bunker.

More rumbles of thunder, louder than before echoed around the interior. Fine dust drifted down from the ceiling. Now William and the others could feel the ground shake with each attack. They were becoming heavier and more concerted as the Blakists shifted their focus from the turrets to the bunker entrance.

"How solid did you say those doors were, sir?" asked Constantinou.

"I didn't, but I think…"

The loudest explosion yet rocked the bunker. The ground shook violently, causing them to stumble. Thick clouds of dust fell now, along with fragments of masonry.

"As I was about to say", William began, once his ears had stopped ringing, "…before I was so rudely interrupted, we should get to the vehicle bay. It sounds like they're almost through".

The small group hustled out of the control room and through the armoury, more explosions shaking the ground under their feet and showering them with more dust and debris. They arrived in the armoury and were immediately greeted with the sight of a pair of huge ferrosteel doors, easily large enough for any vehicle to pass through. They were looking decidedly worse for wear, visibly bent and buckled in a number of places and gaps showing in the framework and masonry, scorched black where heat from the blasts was finding a way through.

To the left of the cavernous structure, individual repair bays were laid out, surrounded by maintenance equipment. On the right, overhead cranes, forklifts and cargo handling equipment, including articulated loaders, which looked like miniature battlemechs, stood idle. The floor was covered with markings, which presumably meant something to the people who normally manned this place. A red and white striped line ran the length of the entire area, about six feet from the back wall, where they stood.

"Whatever happens, stay behind this line", called Sandringham. "It's the turrets' blind spot. As long as you're inside the line, you can't be shot…not by them, anyway".

As one, the rest shuffled quickly behind the line, eyeing up positions which would provide good cover.

"Are we ready ladies and gents?" William called, looking up and down his small band of warriors, making eye contact with each of them.

"Okay, here we go".

He pointed his remote at a sensor mounted on the ceiling and four miniguns descended from their enclosures. He pressed another button and the lights on the bottom of each mount switched from steady green to flashing red. A klaxon sounded briefly.

"The guns are now in active search mode and will fire on anything in range", Will shouted, hoping he was making himself heard over the continuing gunfire and explosions from outside.

As he finished speaking, there was a tremendous crash. Everyone looked towards the doors in time to see a large ragged hole torn in the right-hand door. What they weren't expecting was for a similar hole to appear in the back wall as the projectile embedded itself inside the bunker.

"Gauss rifle!" called Marshall from her concealed position.

Will could only nod in agreement.

The massive doors were giving way rapidly now. More and more holes appeared as the Blakists diverted more firepower to breaking through. The right hand door gave first, slowly toppling inward, its hinges and fixtures destroyed. The left hand door sagged and twisted but stubbornly refused to give way.

The first Manei Domini appeared in the ruined entrance and the ceiling guns opened up, spitting out 10mm armour piercing rounds at up to 3,000rpm. The first few were tossed back like rag dolls, momentarily stalling their attack. A few moments of silence followed, before a blinding streak of azure lightning struck the forward left turret, leaving the gun badly disfigured as the particle beam warped and partially melted the barrel. It then disappeared in a cloud of dust and smoke and a tremendous crash reverberated around the bunker's interior. Apparently the Blakists had brought along heavy support weaponry in the form of man-portable PPCs and gauss rifles.

More troops poured through the breach and again the miniguns spat long tongues of flame, mowing down more of the crimson jump-suited enemy. Their sacrifice, however, bought precious moments for the support crews to get their weapons repositioned and moments later, the far rear turret was disabled by PPC and gauss fire. More troops took fire from the remaining guns, while others dashed inside, attempting to establish a position by the repair bays. Constantinou rose from her hiding place and let loose a long burst of machine gun fire, her short but stocky frame easily absorbing the weapon's recoil. Marshall joined the fray, tossing a pair of grenades high into the air. They didn't travel far enough to concern the Blakists who'd already taken up defensive positions of their own, but the clouds of shrapnel tore through several Domini running to reinforce them.

Another bolt of lightning and another deafening crash announced the destruction of a third gatling turret. The level of enemy fire directed at Sandringham and his group intensified.

"We can't hold here much longer, get ready to fall back to the armoury!" he yelled into his radio headset, hoping the others would hear him over the din.

"On my mark, head for the door. I'll provide covering fire!"

"Don't be stupid, sir. We'll cover you!"

William jumped as he suddenly realised Katelyn Marshall was crouching by his side and yelling in his ear.

There was another loud crash and a large chunk of wall just a few metres away disintegrated.

"We need to do something about those damn support weapons!"

"Allow me, sir", said another voice in his left ear.

William spun round to find Andrei Piotrowski crouching beside him, already fitting a round into his RPG launcher.

"Good to see you! Did you get our people out okay?"

"Eventually. The Robes didn't make it easy, but now they've got a whole new set of problems to deal with", Andrei replied, grinning ferociously.

Sandringham noticed the bloodstained field dressing, tied tightly round his chest.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"I'll live. Long enough to see these bastards regret setting foot on this planet anyway".

He stood up, took aim and fired. A gout of smoke and flame erupted from the back of the launcher and the recoil caused him to stagger, in his weakened state. He quickly hunkered back down.

"Did you hit anything?"

"They're down one PPC crew".

A fresh barrage of fire chipped away at the wall behind them, rounds pinging off the heavy duty equipment cases in front of them.

"I think now would be a good time to leave, sir!"

Sandringham looked up as the remaining gatling fell silent. Having spent all its ammunition, its barrel whirled to a stop.

"I agree!"

Piotrowski finished putting another round into his launcher and this time peered cautiously over the edge of a case. Sighting down the long tube, he picked out a target and fired.

Marshall and Sandringham suffered coughing fits, their eyes streaming as the acrid cloud of burnt propellant engulfed their hideout. Katelyn grabbed William's arm and pulled him towards the door.

"Smokescreen. Nice idea, Andrei", the Regent spluttered.

Katelyn paused at the open door, frowning. "That's odd"

"What is?"

Then it dawned on all of them. The Blakists were still shooting…but not at them. As the smoke cleared, they saw the Domini troops that had taken up position by the vehicle bays running back outside.

"What the hell?" wondered Constantinou, who'd now joined them.

She still had her machine gun aimed in the Blakists' general direction but, distracted like the others, her index finger remained pressed along the weapon's side. As they stood there, they became aware of a new sound, unmistakeable and easily identifiable over the usual sounds of combat: the sound of mech footfalls.

They cautiously made their way outside, using the cover afforded by the buildings and the debris now littering the grounds, to stay out of sight.

"Blake's Blood! I think I'm seeing things".

"If you are Kate, I'm having the same hallucination", said Sandringham.

Less than two hundred metres away, a battle-damaged _Wolverine_ lumbered into view from behind an outbuilding. It was covered in scars, gouges and burns, but what was left of its paint scheme and unit markings were still identifiable.

"Its from the two hundred and first!" gasped Marshall.

"That's a Winged Warriors mech alright!" said Constantinou.

Sandringham's heart soared for a moment, "So they weren't all wiped out?"

As if to answer his question, a _Dervish,_ _Clint_, _Grim Reaper_ and _Chameleon_, all bearing the scars of prolonged combat, emerged from various other points around the grounds, in an obvious envelopment manoeuvre, designed to trap the surviving Blakists in an ever-shrinking pocket. A latecomer to the fray, a relatively fresh-looking _Hunchback_ ran past in a rather ungainly fashion. It looked as though its usual heavy autocannon had been replaced with a lighter model and its energy weapon complement beefed up.

The Blakists hastily improvised defensive positions as best they could and threw everything they had at the incoming battlemechs, but there was only ever going to be one outcome.

"Why don't they surrender?" asked Constantinou, shaking her head at the futile resistance.

"That's not their way. Remember we're dealing with fanatics here. They'd rather die than submit to us. They even consider it an honour", said Sandringham soberly.

There was a whistling sound overhead, a loud crash and a large chunk of stonework toppled to the ground, just a few metres from where they stood. Autocannon fire stitched lines of craters along the palace wall. A ruby laser beam sliced a tree in half, causing the top half to fall on a gazebo, demolishing the fragile wooden structure. A pair of stray missiles blew out a number of windows on the upper storey, showering them with broken glass.

"Getting a little too close for comfort. I suggest we find another vantage point", said Marshall, indicating the far side of the bunker.

A little over quarter of an hour later, all Blakist resistance had ended. As Sandringham had predicted, they fought to the last man, turning the once-pristine grounds into a bloody tableau of carnage.

The mechs marched, or in some cases limped, into something approaching a parade ground formation, before powering down. A couple of minutes passed before the hatch under the cockpit opened. A chain ladder dropped through the opening and unravelled, clanging against the chassis as it swung back and forth. The pilot emerged a few moments later, clambering unsteadily, reaching out and putting a gloved hand on the chassis to steady themselves. The long, chestnut hair, tied into a neat ponytail and the willowy physique, apparent even through the jumpsuit told the onlookers the pilot's gender.

She took the last step to the ground and seemed to sag with fatigue, before slowly turning and stretching apparently sore and stiff limbs. Suddenly aware she had an audience, she hastily finished zipping up her jumpsuit and marched towards the Regent as smartly as her condition allowed. Around them, the other pilots began exiting their machines, using either hand-holds or ladders and hurried to join their commander.

"Adept Lydia Royce, Two Epsilon, Three Gamma, Two Hundred and First Division, sir" she said, managing a snappy parade ground salute, despite the tiredness etched across her face.

"At ease, Adept", Sandringham replied, returning the salute.

"Sirs", she continued, holding her salute and acknowledging the rest of the group, "Reporting to confirm elimination of the enemy threat. The palace grounds are under our control".

"Report received and acknowledged, Adept Royce", said Precentor Marshall, smiling. "Damn fine job. You and your troops will receive official commendations for your actions today".

She shot a meaningful sidelong glance at the Regent, who smiled and nodded.

"What about the troops inside the palace?" William said quietly to Piotrowski.

"See for yourself, sir", Andrei replied.

He pointed to a ragtag group of men and women, in various Coalition uniforms, most armed and many nursing injuries, as they emerged cautiously from a concealed basement entrance, their caution turning to unrestrained joy on seeing the battlemechs, wearing friendly colours, parked in the grounds.

"Well done, Andrei", the Regent said, smiling broadly. "I'd say you've earned yourself a place on the honours list".

"It was an honour to do my part in ridding our world of the Blakist scum", Piotrowski replied solemnly, before breaking into a smile. "Still, that medal would look nice on my dress uniform".

They turned their attention to Precentor Marshall, who was still listening to their rescuers' tale, related by Adept Royce.

"That final push by the Blakists was the final straw. We'd lost too many of our heavier units and just didn't have the firepower to hold them off. Our only hope of survival was to fall back into the city and try and break contact. Some of them followed us in, but we went to passive sensors and kept off the main roads. Adept Ian Knight and Two Delta followed us in, but…"

Her voice faltered and she began to lose her composure. Marshall laid a comforting hand on her arm. The young officer looked like she'd been through hell and back.

She closed her eyes and got a grip on her emotions. "We got split up. He must've walked into an ambush or something. We heard him calling for help, but by the time we reached his location…there was nothing left but wreckage…"

Her voice caught in her throat again and this time a solitary tear rolled down her cheek.

"After that, we played hide and seek with the bastards for the best part of half a day. Nightfall helped there – let us make a break for it through the outskirts and into the fen lands. Didn't reckon they'd find us there and even if they did, they'd have a hell of a job catching up with us. Hid out there for a day just to rest up, then we set out for the nearest base in the hopes of finding some salvage and supplies".

"Didn't it occur to you most of our military installations would be crawling with Blakists?"

Royce just nodded.

"Our mechs were falling to bits and we were down to our last day of ration packs. We didn't have any choice. We scouted a couple of the larger bases, but they were heavily guarded. Third time we got lucky. We found a small supply depot that was only guarded by infantry. We went in hard and managed to wipe them out without damaging the place too badly. Spent a day refitting and rearming, grabbed what we could in the way of supplies and headed out again.

"Did you have any plan or target in mind?"

"We had an idea to make more raids, just to try and disrupt the Blakist supply lines and destroy their support systems, but we didn't really know where to start. It was pure chance our route took us by the palace. Seemed a good place to look for help…never guessed it'd be crawling with Robes too. Found ourselves in the middle of a fire fight, so we decided to help out as best we could".

Royce finally managed a small smile. "First bit of luck we've had so far in this whole bloody war".

The Regent nodded soberly. "To echo Precentor Marshall's words, you and your unit have conducted yourselves in an exemplary manner and in doing so have given us a fighting chance of pushing the Blakists right off this world".

Before Royce could respond, Marshall cut in.

"So, according to your best estimates, we have two Blakist Level IIs running around in the city?"

"Yes, sir".

Sandringham looked on with interest, watching frowns crease her striking features as her train of thought built up steam.

"And we have two-thirds of a Level III somewhere south of us, doing Blake knows what".

"Don't forget the ones they left behind", said Constantinou, her large dark eyes sparkling with sudden enthusiasm.

"Anyone else thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Sandringham, smiling.

"You mean that, between the mechs we brought here, the ones the Robes left behind and the troops we rescued, we could form a pretty damn effective fighting unit, sir?" Marshall replied, her expression matching his.

"Bingo! Its going to take a while to refit and re-arm the mechs but we've got all the equipment we need, plus a whole load of _generously donated_ salvage. Organise the tech crews to start working on the mechs. If there are any medics among the people we rescued, have them tend to the injured. Meanwhile I'll get the defence grid back online. The laser turrets are mostly wrecked, but there are still enough Calliopes on the perimeter to ruin anyone's day".

"What's the plan, sir?"

"Still working on it Kate", Sandringham replied, already setting off back to the ruined bunker's surface entrance. Marshall hurriedly fell into step beside him as the others set about issuing orders.

"Might I suggest that as soon as we're ready to move out, we head for the Planetary Command Centre".

"I'm listening".

"Well, we're pretty much blind here. We haven't a clue where the remaining Blakist forces are, whether they've sent any reinforcements, or if we still have any friendly units operating independently out there".

"Good points, well made", Sandringham conceded. "As usual you're thinking ahead, while I'm ready to go charging off in search of a fight".

"Whereas if we link back up with Precentor Commander Jackson and the Joint Chiefs, with the facilities at the PCC, we can get a clearer picture of the overall situation, not just here but on Wellington and the other Coalition worlds. That gives us the best chance of planning an effective, co-ordinated counteroffensive".

William smiled at Katelyn, "Some day you're going to make an excellent Head of the Armed Forces".

Marshall grimaced, "Will, I plan on retiring long before that happens".


	59. On the Carpet

**_WBS_ Righteous Fury,**  
**_Geosynchronous Orbit, Britannia  
__Britannic Coalition  
__October 14, 3068_**

"How is this possible? You were given two regular Divisions, plus a Shadow Division, with armour, artillery and aerospace support. You initiated the invasion nearly 2 weeks ago and yet you stand here and tell me we have still to take the capital, much less pacify the planet?"

The already tense atmosphere in the captain's ready room was cranked up a notch as Precentor Jadis rose from behind the desk and began pacing the floor.

"You do realise I will have to submit a report to Precentor St Jamais, informing him of our progress to date. I doubt very much he will be satisfied with its contents".

Her icy stare bore down on Precentor Swindelli who shifted uncomfortably and wondered what he could have done to deserve so much ill luck in one lifetime. A lifetime that could be terminated prematurely if he didn't figure a way out of this…quickly.

"I already explained, we defeated the main Coalition force on planet and drove the survivors into hiding", he began, feeling a spark of defiance ignite within him, "I faced Regent Sandringham across the battlefield, ordered him to surrender or face the consequences and he yielded!"

"Then what went wrong?" Jadis shot back, whirling round suddenly in mid-step and making Swindelli jump.

"Well, for one thing, it appears not everyone decided to comply with _your_ order to surrender", interjected Precentor Alastor sardonically, somehow managing an expression of cruel amusement, despite his extensive cybernetic facial augmentations.

Swindelli glared at him, "Whatever the hell happened, Sandringham wasn't the problem! I know the man and how he thinks. He would have ordered all his troops to stand down and they would have obeyed".

He turned back to Jadis but kept one arm pointed at the 66th Shadow Division's commander, "No, everything was going just fine, until we were ambushed from out of nowhere. If I hadn't recommended we withdraw, we would've been decimated! If he'd done his job properly, we would have control of Britannia by now and with it, the entire Coalition!"

Jadis threw a questioning glace at the Manei Domini officer and for the first time during the meeting he looked uncomfortable.

"I would question the accuracy of most of Precentor Swindelli's statements, but he is correct about the ambush. We came under heavy attack some time after Sandringham surrendered, while most of our forces were either dispersed on patrol or standing down for repair and rearming".

Alastor shook his head, "I swear by Blake's divine wisdom, I have never seen anything like it before. There was no warning – our scouts and sentries detected nothing – they must have been using very sophisticated masking or ECM systems".

"Were you able to identify the attackers?" interrupted Jadis.

Alastor shook his head once again, "Negative. Our battle computers were unable to match their mechs or vehicles to anything in our databases. Their firepower was truly formidable – I have never witnessed anything like it.

"Like I said", said Swindelli interrupting, "If we hadn't withdrawn when we did, there would be nothing left of the Sixty Sixth".

Jadis strode over to the porthole behind the desk and stood in silent contemplation for several moments, before turning round to speak. "It appears that our original strategy has failed…therefore we must go to the backup plan".

"Wait a minute…what back up plan?" Swindelli was instantly alert.

His eyes widened in sudden comprehension, "Oh no…no…you can't be serious. Not after all the time and work I've put into this. You're not going to deny me now…"

"You had your chance", said Jadis coolly, "and you failed to deliver on your promises. We have used other methods to great effect in our campaigns in the Inner Sphere. I expect they will be equally effective here".

Swindelli's stomach lurched unpleasantly. He knew all too well what those "other methods" were. Just reading the reports of the aftermath on worlds like Galedon V were enough to make his skin crawl.

"Oh, they'll work alright…and they'll also leave these worlds uninhabitable for the next fifty years! I thought the aim of this mission was to re-educate the populace and establish a new Word of Blake enclave in the Periphery? Do you think Precentor St Jamais will be any happier when you report you exterminated a few million more people in the name of Blake's divine will?"

"Happier than he will be if we report we were unable to subdue some Periphery rabble!", Jadis retorted.

She turned to Alastor, "Inform Demi Precentor Truscott to prepare half a dozen Santa Ana warheads. I want them ready for launch within 6 hours".

The Manei Domini nodded and turned on his heel smartly, sweeping past Swindelli on his way out with surprising grace, for a person whose body had extensive biomechanical modifications.

"And what would you have me do now?" asked Swindelli, trying to suppress the sinking feeling, as the realisation dawned on him that this was no longer his mission and that his hopes of advancement within the Toyama were rapidly evaporating.

"Return to the surface and stand by to co-ordinate the Sixty Sixth's withdrawal to a safe location, once we finalise the target co-ordinates". Jadis smiled coldly at Swindelli, "I would hate for us to sustain further losses for no good reason".

"If you just gave me more time, I could give you Britannia…and the rest of the Coalition with it", he said sullenly, standing in the doorway.

"Time is a luxury we do not have", Jadis snapped. "We have already wasted too much time and too many assets. The longer this drags on, the longer the Coalition has to regroup and start launching a counter-offensive. We must make a clean break and return to the Inner Sphere. We still have many other misguided brothers and sisters who must be brought back to the fold…one way or another".


	60. Turncoat

**_WBS_ Righteous Fury,**  
**_Geosynchronous Orbit, Britannia,  
__Britannic Coalition,  
__October 14, 3068_**

Precentor Swindelli stepped from the elevator, onto one of the lower decks, somewhere between the bridge and the forward shuttle bay. He navigated his way through the large but crowded inner areas, home to store rooms, workshops and mess facilities, to the smaller, quieter outer section, where the ship's broadside weapons were located. He stopped beside one of the touch screens that were dotted throughout the ship. Tapping a number of the touch screen's keys brought up a schematic of the _Potemkin's_ weapons systems. Finding what he wanted, he returned the screen to the main menu display and strode off in the direction of the port forward missile launcher.

Dodging and weaving to avoid crewmembers going about their business on the battleship's busy decks, Swindelli found the compartment he was looking for and entered the requisite ID code on the keypad security system that protected all the ship's sensitive areas. He peered through the open door cautiously and was relieved to find the compartment was empty - a relative term, since the retrofitted AR10 missile launcher, its magazine and control systems took up most of the available space, leaving very little for the maintenance crews to work in.

Making his way to the bulkhead-mounted computer terminal on the opposite wall, he pulled his personal noteputer out of his jumpsuit's breast pocket, along with a cable. He plugged one end into a port in the noteputer's right-hand side and jacked the other into a socket on the terminal. Used to run diagnostic tests, upload new control software and adjust operational settings, the terminal was designed to hook up with other machines. Swindelli waited impatiently, for his unit to boot up and be recognised by the terminal, before sorting though the folders on its internal drive, until he found the one he wanted.

"Heh…never mind a spanner…that should throw a toolbox in the works", he chuckled to himself, selecting a file for upload.

The file transfer took less than a minute and configuring the application to run took only slightly longer.

Shutting his noteputer down and disconnecting it from the terminal, he exited the compartment, frowning and looking round in puzzlement, as though lost. He made a show of checking the nearby touch screen for directions to the shuttle bay, for the benefit of the few crew members on this part of the deck, who paid him scant attention in any case.

Making his way back to the crowded inner deck, he found his way back to the elevator bank he'd used before, hit the "down" button and waited for the car to arrive. The sliding door hissed open a little over a minute later. He stepped inside and punched the button for the hangar deck.

As before, when he stepped out of the lift, he found himself in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the daily shipboard routine. Having only the vaguest knowledge of flight operations, he had to visit another touch screen to familiarise himself with the location of the hangar control systems.

Steering clear of the flight operations area, which was fairly quiet anyway, as the _Fury_ was only running standard fighter patrols, he made his way to the launch control system's engineering compartment. Once again, he found the techs conspicuous by their absence and he proceeded to hook up his noteputer to the computer terminal within. As before, the link-up proceeded without incident and Swindelli browsed the files stored on the hand-held device.

"Perfect", he said quietly, his face a mask of malicious glee, "I can't wait to see their faces when this baby kicks in".

The upload went more quickly this time and since the program was specifically designed for a single purpose, he didn't have to spend precious seconds configuring it. However, just as he was disconnecting his noteputer, he heard the sound of footsteps outside the compartment door and just as he was stashing his gear, it slid open to reveal a technician Adept, whose expression of furrowed concentration turned to one of surprise.

"Precentor…Swindelli", he said, pausing to read the nametag on Ricardo's jumpsuit, "what are you doing in here?"

"I…uh…I've been conducting random spot-checks throughout the ship…to monitor the efficiency and functionality of critical systems", he said, thinking furiously. "I make a point of doing it on every assignment", he finished wondering if it sounded as lame, out loud, as it did in his head.

The technician's frown deepened, "We take our duties very seriously, Precentor. I very much doubt that you'll find anything amiss in this section".

"I would not expect it to be otherwise", Swindelli replied, trying not to let his nerves get the better of him, "Nevertheless, I shall resume my inspection…there is still much I have not yet seen".

He'd barely gone a hundred feet when he heard the Adept's cry of alarm.

He'd only made it another thirty when his com unit went off. He ignored it and hurried towards the nearest shuttle gantry. All four were currently docked as they were mainly used for ferrying dignitaries and senior officers.

Swindelli cursed as he tried to pick up his pace but found himself hampered by the vice-like grip of his magnetic-soled boots. He briefly toyed with the idea of switching them off, which would allow him to kick off from the deck and drift. He dismissed the thought equally quickly. Drifting was generally only done when the ship was at battle stations or during emergencies and would surely arouse suspicion.

Panting slightly from his exertions, he clambered up the gantry, along the walkway and into the shuttle's hatchway. He stopped dead as he saw a tech working inside the panel of the navigation console. He cursed silently and drew his laser pistol.

The tech, hidden inside the panel from the shoulders up, didn't suspect a thing until Swindelli jabbed the barrel of the laser pistol between their shoulder blades.

"Stop what you're doing and stand up, nice and slow", said Swindelli.

The tech froze and Ricardo had to repeat himself. "I said get up! Do you want me to burn a hole through your spine?" he said impatiently.

The tech slowly emerged from inside the panel and stood up. Swindelli was glad he hadn't simply shot out of hand, as he'd originally intended, as the jump suited figure turned out to be a young, female Acolyte and a rather attractive one at that.

Swindelli swore under his breath again. "Get off the shuttle…now!" he said, waving the pistol in the direction of the hatch.

"But, sir…I…"

"I said _now_!"

The young tech fled, wide eyed and fearful, only just remembering to grab her tools on the way out.

Swindelli closed the hatch behind her and strode to the cockpit, holstering his sidearm once more. He jumped into the pilot's seat and without bothering to strap in, began hitting switches to bring the shuttlecraft's various systems online. First, the displays and cockpit HUD came up, then the command and control interface, followed by the sensor array, life support and propulsion. A warning message came up on one of the secondary displays, telling him the navigation system and autopilot were offline. He ignored it and continued with the start-up sequence…he wasn't planning to go very far and his destination would be staring him in the face, once he left the shuttle bay.

Just as he hit the engine start button, he saw red warning lights begin to flash around the shuttle bay. The rising engine noise was already drowning out the faint wail of the klaxons. People stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the shuttle, while others fled for safety. Swindelli pulled his noteputer from his pocket once more and hoped the wireless network function would work from inside the craft. He finished system checks on the shuttle as it booted up, before switching his attention to the small device, perched precariously on the main console. He cursed as he found his access codes had been cancelled, but grinned as he remembered the override protocols that he'd gone to great lengths to find out. He tapped into the shuttle bay's launch control computers and activated the bay doors, also unlocking the shuttle's docking clamps in the process.

"Seal the bay! We must stop that shuttle leaving!" shouted the guard, bursting into the control room and waving an arm towards the large ferroglass viewport, in the general direction of the farthest gantry.

The Air Controller, who already been alerted to the commotion in the shuttle bay, didn't waste another second. "Lock out the bay doors and the docking clamps for Gantry One!" he ordered the Adept at the work station beside him.

"Aye, sir!"

The junior officer's brow furrowed as he entered the commands into the terminal.

"Sir, controls are not responding".

"What? What do you mean, they're not responding?" barked the Air Controller.

"I don't know sir. Whoever it is, they either know our override protocols, or they could be using a hacker program to corrupt our control systems".

"Blake's Blood!" swore the Air Controller, pounding a fist on the console. He glanced down at the Adept, "Get your team together and get working on a fix – I want control of my hangar back!" He scowled at the guard, "We can't do anything from here…you'll have to find some other way to stop them".

Bringing the shuttle's engines up to minimum power, he began to guide the small ship towards the bay entrance. Ricochet noises from the hull told him at least one security team were doing their level best to discourage his escape. He wondered idly how they were managing to avoid being sucked out of the bay by the howling vacuum of space. The hull shuddered from more impacts and several warning lights lit up on one of the secondary consoles, but Swindelli was too focused on his escape to pay them any attention.

The huge bay doors seemed to part with agonizing slowness and Ricardo had to back off the throttle, slowing the shuttle to avoid ramming them. Even so, he was forced to roll the craft onto its side, squeezing between the doors with barely a metre of clearance either side.

Clear of the bay, Ricardo pushed the throttle to its maximum thrust setting and the shuttle darted clear of the massive warship.

Moments after exiting the hangar, the shuttle's com system crackled to life.

"Precentor Swindelli – return to the shuttle bay at once! That is not a request – it is an order!"

Even from a distance, Jadis' voice had the power to unnerve. Shaking off his discomfort, Ricardo kept his eyes firmly on the cockpit viewscreen and used the head-up display to estimate a safe trajectory for orbital insertion.

There was a pause, during which Ricardo guessed she was angrily pacing the _Righteous Fury's_ bridge, waiting to hear the sensor operator's next report. It wasn't long in coming and the response only made Jadis angrier.

"Swindelli – if you do not reverse course immediately, I will order our aerospace fighters to destroy you! Return and face the consequences of your actions, or die like a heretic traitor. You will not be warned again".

Ricardo frowned and activated his radio, "Precentor Jadis, knowing what you do to heretics and traitors, I think I'd rather take my chances out here".

He cut the link and tried to picture the scene on the warship's bridge and the chaos and confusion that would be unfolding.

The viruses he'd chosen were small, difficult to trace and not especially malicious. The first simply caused the missile launcher's control system to enter diagnostic mode when the command to fire was given. Until the virus was found and erased, the ship's missile systems would remain inoperative. The second locked the fighter bay doors, overriding the electronic control system, meaning they could only be cranked open using the hydraulic backup system, which would take more time than he needed to escape.

Swindelli was lost in self-congratulatory thought, when a bolt of azure, man-made lightning shot narrowly overhead. He realised instantly what it was and cursed himself for not thinking through his plan more thoroughly. Even deprived of its missiles and fighter complement, the _Potemkin_ class cruiser still had a frightening amount of firepower, with its banks of Class 45 lasers and heavy naval particle cannon, one of which had just missed his shuttle.

He threw the small craft into a series of evasive manoeuvres. The warship's weapons had effective ranges of hundreds of kilometres and he would not be clear for several more minutes. The ruby lance of a naval laser flashed past the cockpit canopy, then a faint explosion sounded from the rear of the shuttle, which reverberated through the cockpit. Ricardo wrestled with the controls as multiple warnings lit up on the console. There was a noticeable deceleration and he felt the craft begin to drift off course. Warnings on one of the secondary displays told him one of the main engines and the port rear stabiliser were off-line.

'_Must've been a glancing blow'_, thought Ricardo. _'If that had been a direct hit, I'd be vapour and this shuttle would be an expanding cloud of debris'_.

G forces began to pin Ricardo back in his seat and the control yoke began to buck in his hands as the shuttle slowly rolled upside down and went into a shallow nosedive.

"Oh crap! No no no…" muttered Swindelli, as he fought the unresponsive controls to bring the shuttle back on course.

* * *

**_WBS_ Righteous Fury,**  
**_Britannia System_**

"Precentor! Sensors show the shuttlecraft veering wildly off course. It appears to be heavily damaged".

Jadis paused in her pacing and stared thoughtfully at the main viewscreen, which on a magnified display, showed the small craft tumbling, apparently out of control. "I'm not sure which would be more fitting…destroying him outright, or leaving him to suffer a horrible flaming death as his ship burns up in the atmosphere".

Demi Precentor Suranne Mireaux kept her face impassive, surprised at her superior's casual, even faintly gleeful cruelty.

Jadis spun on her heel suddenly, turning to face him. "Continue firing. I want that shuttle destroyed".

"Precentor, if it continues on its current course, the ship will soon be out of our weapon arcs", said Mireaux nervously.

"Then you had better pray for the Hand of Blake to guide your gunners' aim", Jadis replied, turning on her heel and stalking back to the holotank.


	61. Out of the Frying Pan

**_Shuttlecraft _Conrad_,  
__On Approach to Britannia_**

The blue, green and white globe filled the cockpit canopy, blotting out the surrounding space. Swindelli breathed slightly easier as the shuttle's navigation computer confirmed his new course. His peripheral vision caught flashes of crimson and the occasional azure lance of man-made lightning, as the _Fury's_ gunners continued their attempts to snuff out his existence. If nothing else, his erratic, barely-controlled flight had made him a near-impossible target. The craft's small size and his distance from the battlecruiser, coupled with his close proximity to the planet, meant her targeting systems would have trouble locking on to him.

The shuttle was still in the wrong attitude for a direct approach, meaning he would have to re-enter from the southern pole, but at least he'd managed to bring his glide path to a safe angle. The navigation crosshairs glowed green on the HUD, slowly scrolling upward as the waypoints were passed. More azure bolts and crimson lances flashed overhead, to port and starboard.

He closed his eyes and whispered a brief prayer, not daring to attempt more evasive manoeuvres in case he damaged the craft's atmospheric control surfaces, leaving him unable to get back on course. The faint bluish-white haze that marked Britannia's upper atmosphere was now just below him, a sign he was only a matter of minutes from safety.

'_Provided this crate doesn't break up mid-air, or crash into a mountain'_, he thought gloomily.

Between its engine, thruster and structural damage, the shuttle had all the manoeuvrability of a brick.

"Still plenty of time for it to go horribly wrong, Ricky-boy", he muttered to himself, "Don't get your hopes up yet".

According to his nav system, he should now be about fifty miles above Britannia's southern polar region. Nothing to do but wait now, for his approach to bring him back over the northern hemisphere.

A frustrating few hours later, the craft began to vibrate and shudder as its airframe met resistance from the thin, but tangible air. Minutes passed and the vibration grew to a violent shaking. The air friction was now severe enough that Swindelli could see the edges of the blazing cone of flame enveloping the shuttle's nose, flickering at the cockpit windows. The controls were virtually non-responsive now, but he gripped them with all his strength anyway, hoping to at least hold his present course.

Ricardo cursed as the HUD showed his angle of descent increasing. He felt the shuttle's nose dip and on the MFD saw the craft's projected glide path deviate outside his planned course.

"Warning. Rate of descent above safe parameters. Pull up", chimed the flight computer.

"You don't say", grunted Swindelli, continuing to wrestle futilely with the controls, while trying to brace himself against the back of the seat.

"Just hold together, baby. Just for a few more minutes".

The flames died away and the tortuous shaking subsided to a more tolerable level of turbulence. The shuttle swiftly passed through the faint, wispy upper cloud layer and far below Swindelli could see the thick blanket of the lower cloud veil. He found the controls began to respond again, although they were still sluggish, thanks to the damage sustained in his escape. He pulled back on the yoke, easing the craft into a shallower angle of approach. Somewhere below him, according to the nav computer, was the continent of Albion, with the city of Westminster just a few hundred kilometres to the east.

The shuttle plunged through the cloud layer and Swindelli found himself staring once more at the world he had fought to escape from just a day or so earlier.

"I must be out of my goddamned mind", he muttered.

For the first time he began to think through his hastily-conceived plan and doubt set in as he estimated its chances of succeeding. Assuming he survived the landing, would any enemy troops he encountered take him prisoner or just shoot him on sight? Even if they decided to capture him, where would they take him? Would they allow him to contact Sandringham...or at least someone in a position to take action against the imminent threat that faced them? Would they even believe his story, or just dismiss it as an attempt at bargaining for his freedom?

"Crap. Too late to worry now".

A low range of mountains passed, less than a thousand feet below him. He was now low enough to be able to make out geographic features, roads and individual structures. A larger, more developed cluster of buildings loomed in the distance and Swindelli began looking for a place to set down.

Suddenly a threat warning light lit up on his console and an urgent beeping noise told him something was wrong.

"Targeting radar…what the hell?"

Someone…or something, was tracking him.

Another light came on and the alarm changed to a high-pitched trilling noise.

"Missile lock? I just cannot catch a break!"

The shuttle was, of course, equipped with ECM and anti-missile systems, but Ricardo didn't want to risk taking evasive action in case he lost what remaining control he had over the craft. He punched the buttons to activate the craft's countermeasures, finding himself praying once again that his future was not about to meet an immediate and abrupt end.

The missiles' smoke trails were almost invisible against the grey sky, meaning any evasive action he might have taken could just as easily have steered him straight into them. The threat warning system, however, kept him informed of their closure, its beeping growing in intensity.

The first two missed high and low, drawn by the chaff or flares…he didn't care which. He began a gradual descending turn to bring him onto final approach and just as he began to feel he might make it, a third detonated somewhere behind him.

Swindelli guessed it had exploded close enough for shrapnel to tear his remaining engine to shreds, as immediately several new engine warning lights lit up on his console, accompanied by more alarms. The shuttle lurched and began to fall out of the sky. Ricardo yanked back on the controls as hard as he could, to bring the nose up, as the ground began accelerating upwards to meet him. There was a loud bang and the craft lurched again. It felt as though something had detached from the port wing and the shuttle began to roll to the left. Swindelli punched the port attitude thrusters to compensate, but they weren't nearly as effective in atmospheric conditions.

A fourth missile blazed harmlessly overhead, thrown off by his sudden course change. He continued to fight the controls, catching glimpses of the ground he was about to hit, out of the windows, as the shuttle swung and lurched erratically. He didn't even attempt to lower the landing gear, as it would likely just be torn off. Instead he braced himself and tried to guide the stricken craft in, as best he could, for a belly landing. His nav system had picked out a small airport on the outskirts of the city and its grey ferrocrete landing strip now filled his vision. His peripheral vision picked out camouflaged vehicles and people in uniform, as well as missile launchers arrayed around the perimeter. It looked as though the place was under military control.

'_Oh well, at least I'm guaranteed a warm welcome'._

It was his last thought before the shuttle lost its last vestiges of lift and hit the runway hard, barely slowing as it skidded at worrying speed towards a barricade that had been erected at the far end. Swindelli let go of the controls at the last moment and braced himself for an almighty impact. In the end it wasn't quite as bad as he'd feared. The pilot and co-pilot's couches were evidently fitted to shock mountings, designed to absorb the worst of a crash landing.

Gravity and friction began to act rapidly, eventually bringing the craft to a halt well before the barricade. Vehicles and troops began to rush towards the downed shuttle, while the shaken but largely unhurt Blakist officer made his way unsteadily to the exit.

"Hands behind your head. Up against the vehicle!" barked a BCAF trooper, gesturing to Swindelli with his rifle barrel.

'_Well, it's a start'_, he thought. _'At least they didn't shoot me on sight'_.

"I need to speak to Regent Sandringham", he said through gritted teeth, as he was searched, none too gently. "Britannia is in grave danger".


	62. Incarceration

**_Detention Area,  
__Planetary Commmand Centre,  
__50km north east of Westminster,  
__Britannia_**

Precentor Swindelli stumbled as he was pushed forward, his shoulder jarring against what felt like a door frame. Hands grabbed his arms, guiding him forward a few paces, before spinning him around and pushing him down. He fell backwards, landing on some kind of seat. There was a clink as his handcuffs were unlocked. His arms were roughly pulled round the back of the seat, before he felt the cuffs locking round his wrists once more.

"Hey, what is this? I said I need to speak to the Regent! What part of that do you meatheads not understand?" Swindelli said indignantly, as his blindfold was finally removed.

He squinted and blinked several times as his eyes adjusted to the harsh lighting. He was in a small room with white panelled walls and ceiling, the latter studded with bright LED lights, whose glare was reflected by the walls. The floor was made of a black, rubberised material. The furnishings were sparse. Apart from a table and two chairs, one of which he occupied, there was a small cot ant the far end and what looked like a closet built into the wall. Twisting around in his seat, he could see some kind of console and screen built into the wall behind him. He guessed he was in a holding cell, though where he might be was a total mystery. Having been blindfolded before being put in the back of a scout car, all he knew was that they had driven at moderate speed for about thirty minutes, their route involving many turns, both left and right, which meant they could be anywhere within a 50km radius of the airport.

One of the guards, a hulking, brutish-looking man, who in another life might have been a professional wrestler, leaned his face in close to Swindelli's.

"You want to watch your mouth, scumbag".

He stood up and cracked his knuckles meaningfully.

"In here, no-one will hear you scream".

In the background, the other guard snickered. "Go on, you murdering bastard, give him a reason. I'd like to see Blake save you now", he sneered.

Swindelli sighed. The major drawback of being a member of the Word, was of course, that everyone else immediately tagged you as a religious fanatic with a penchant for genocide. Few outside the Order appreciated that many Blakists were ordinary, "sane" people like himself.

'_Of course, as with all things, sanity is relative'_, he thought. _'I'm beginning to think I was insane to think this could work'_.

"If you'd just listen to me for a moment, you'd realise I'm trying to save your lives", he snapped, struggling to keep his temper under control. "The Blakists are planning another attack…far more devastating than the last one. The Regent needs the information I have if he's to have any hope of saving this world".

That at least got their attention. The guards stared at him, then at each other. The second one looked back at Swindelli, studying his uniform with exaggerated care.

"You don't say? P'raps you could give us just one good reason why we should believe a single word that comes out of your filthy lying mouth?"

The wrestler-type looked surprisingly thoughtful. Perhaps there were also brains to go with the brawn.

"Yeah, for all we know you could be attempting to spread misinformation".

"Exactly", nodded the second guard grimly.

Swindelli had to concede his jailers weren't total idiots. Unfortunately, they weren't quite bright enough to connect all the dots. That, coupled with their natural hatred and suspicion was just making his mission all the harder.

"Think about it. I'm trying to warn your leader about a massive, planetary-scale attack which will devastate this world", he paused for effect. "The same world I just happen to be stuck on right now, with no way of escape".

"He's got a point", conceded the first guard.

"You could be one of them suicide bombers", said the first.

"Oh, Blake's Beard – you've already searched me. Did you find anything?" Swindelli snapped.

"No, but we've heard they have the explosives inside them".

"Well then, scan me, or whatever the frack you need to do to confirm I'm clean. Just get it done already!"

The guards looked at each other and appeared to come to a decision.

"So what do we do then?"

"Standard procedure. Log his details on the system and send the usual report to Demi-Precentor Mackay".

If Swindelli could have face-palmed just then, he would have. "Excuse me…have you morons even understood a word I've said?"

"Listen maggot, prisoners don't get to speak to the Regent. If you've got a problem with that, you can take it up with the guard commander".

"Don't worry", Swindelli said, now thoroughly exasperated, "I will…and I'll be sure to tell your superiors how helpful you've been".


	63. Don't Shoot the Messenger

**_Operations Room,  
__Planetary Commmand Centre,  
__50km northwest of Westminster,  
__Britannia_**

Precentor Ricardo Swindelli fought the urge to grin as the guards shepherded him into the Operations Room - the heart of the PCC. He wasn't sure how, but details of his capture and imprisonment had quickly found their way up the chain of command…all the way to the Regent. The chastened expressions on his minder's faces and that of their superiors, along with the more deferential treatment he was now accorded, told him everything he needed to know.

His mirth was short-lived, as he entered the large open-plan room. A short distance to his left was a large rectangular conference table, with room for up to a dozen people. The edges of the table served as desk space, with built-in keyboards, while the centre was filled with an array of monitors, two for each station. A projection screen filled the entire far left wall. To his right, more computer stations were arrayed in various formations, around a large holotank, supplemented with large flat-panel monitors, displaying maps, unit displacements and a multitude of other data.

Swindelli's gaze was drawn back to the table and the men and women, dressed in various uniforms, who occupied the seats. At the head was one figure he recognised instantly.

"William, so nice to see you again, after all this time", he said, unable to resist a veiled barb at his former superior.

That earned him a rifle butt in the back that made him stagger.

"That's Regent Sandringham to you", snarled one of the guards, faceless and unrecognisable behind his darkened helmet visor.

Sandringham stood slowly. "To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, Swindelli?" he asked, his tone conveying neither pleasure or surprise.

"Good question – glad you asked", Swindelli gasped, clutching his stomach. "First, however, I'd like to discuss terms, before divulging any information. I'd like reassurances…guarantees actually, that I will be allowed safe passage off this world, once I have passed on what I know".

Sandringham smiled, seeming genuinely amused. "No deal. Spill the beans first, then I'll decide if its worth sparing your hide".

Swindelli met his gaze and shook his head. "Unacceptable. You need what I know, if you're to…"

He trailed off, as if suddenly realising he was about to say too much.

"If I'm to what?"

The Regent slowly walked around the table until he was standing face to face with the other man.

"Let me make this quite clear. If you refuse to co-operate, I have no qualms at all about letting the guards have their fun with you".

He leaned his face in until their noses were almost touching. "I imagine it'll be a very drawn-out and painful experience. I'd estimate your chances of survival at somewhere between slim and zero".

"In that case, I guess we all die", Swindelli replied, a stone cold, deadpan expression on his face.

Sandringham was momentarily taken aback. "What do you mean?"

Swindelli shook his head again. "First you guarantee my safety".

Conflicting emotions struggled for control across the Regent's face, as he tried to decide whether it was worth making concessions to this man, whom he'd known long enough, that every fibre of his being told him not to trust a word that came out of his mouth. Yet there was something different about Ricardo's demeanour. Genuine fear and something else, mixed with the familiar arrogance and smugness, that was now unusually muted.

'_Could he actually be concerned for us?'_, the Regent wondered.

There was only one way to find out, he decided.

"Okay, you win. I personally guarantee…"

"Sir, you can't be serious", interjected Precentor Commander Jackson, rising from his seat. "You know we can't trust…"

"I know Robert", Sandringham said, raising a hand to forestall any further protests, "I don't like it any more than you do, but I don't see we have a choice. If there is a new threat to this world we need to learn everything we can to combat it".

He stared Swindelli straight in the eye, while he spoke to the rest of the room. "I wouldn't normally trust this weasel any farther than I could throw him, but one thing I do trust is his highly-developed sense of self-preservation".

He turned and smiled at the others. "Trust me, his first loyalty has always been and always will be to himself. He's stranded here and he seems awfully keen to get away. I think we should hear what he has to say. In return I offer my personal guarantee of his safety and extend the full rights and privileges granted to any ambassador or VIP guest".

He turned back to Swindelli, "Of course you will be to all intents and purposes under house arrest and will have a twenty-four seven armed escort…just to make sure you don't get lost or anything", he grinned nastily.

His captive just shrugged. "Not a problem. I don't think we don't have that long".

The Regent allowed his surprise and concern to show and gestured for the Blakist Precentor to take a spot at the head of the table, from where he could address the room.

Swindelli walked slowly to the indicated place. The looks of contempt from Jackson and the others were almost a physical force, bearing down on him, but he managed to remain outwardly impassive.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as I told the Regent, we don't have much time, so I'll keep this brief. I was assigned to this operation, to ensure we took your worlds with as few casualties and collateral damage as possible…"

He paused as he was interrupted by mutterings and angry rumbles from the assembled military and government personnel.

"However, due to your unexpectedly effective…_resistance_, to our efforts, my superiors have taken the decision that pacification would be better achieved by…_alternative_ methods".

"Care to elaborate on that?" said the Regent icily, loudly enough to be heard over the renewed outbursts from the others.

"I was just about to". He held his hands out to his audience. "Please, I'm just getting to the interesting part".

He waited until he had their full attention again.

"I don't know how much you've heard of the Word's campaign, so far, but in certain cases, where resistance has been higher than anticipated, some commanders have taken the decision to deploy weapons of mass destruction…"

At those words all activity in the room ceased and every face turned to look at him. Swindelli felt his stomach knot.

"As we all know, this is in breach of the Ares Conventions, but the leaders of our Order took the decision this was not to be fought as a conventional campaign…"

"You mean you're gonna nuke us?" exclaimed a lady in an expensive-looking suit, her face mask of horror.

"As far as I know, we have not deployed nuclear weapons in any of our operations, to date. However, our scientists have been busy over the last few years, concocting a variety of chemical and biological agents for use on the battlefield. As I said, regrettably, some of these have already seen use…and not just on the battlefield. In some cases they have been used to depopulate entire cities".

More uproar broke out and this time Sandringham had to appeal for calm, before Swindelli could continue.

"Now the reason I'm here…and I'd appreciate it if you all remember I came here of my own accord, against the will of my superiors…is that I have witnessed the effects of these weapons, albeit only through video footage and written reports. While I can't profess to have any particular feelings about the Coalition, I do know with absolute certainty that no-one deserves to die like that".

Just speaking about the recordings and files he'd accessed, unauthorised, was enough for his face to adopt a sober, earnest expression that left no-one in any doubt that he was speaking the truth.

"And you say your…comrades…are now planning to use these WMDs against us?" Sandringham asked.

"I don't know, to be perfectly honest. I know the Righteous Fury carries Santa Ana missiles, in addition to chemical and biological warheads".

"How many are we talking about?"

"Again I don't know the exact number, but I'm guessing enough to turn this world into an uninhabitable hell that would have to be quarantined for the next fifty years at least".

"The Santa Anas could be launched directly from your ships, but they'd have to deliver the other warheads through fighter-launched ordnance, right?" this came from Jackson.

"Correct. The order was given to prep a number of Santa Anas, but I did a little tinkering before I escaped, which will mess up their launch systems for a while. Both the Fury and the Bismarck are having problems with their fighter bays too, but I expect it will only be a matter of hours before they fix those as well".

"So we'll know whether they decide to nuke or gas us, depending on whether we pick up ballistic missile trajectories, or massed fighter formations?" asked another officer.

"I'm kinda hoping it won't come to that".

During his escape, Swindelli had racked his brain for a way to effectively combat inbound nuclear missiles, or massed chem / bio-weapon aerospace attacks. The seed of an idea had formed and his brief stint in prison had given him time to flesh it out. His conclusion had been a simple one. Their best hope of survival was to stop any attack before it happened.

He knew the Word of Blake had been experimenting, converting dropships into pocket warships, both manned and unmanned, as a means of increasing their naval strength quickly and cheaply. His plan called for something much simpler than that, which was just as well, given their limited time.

He smiled. "What dropships do you have, ready to fly at short notice?"


	64. Trojan Dropship

**_Overlord Dropship _Margaret Thatcher_,  
__David Cameron Spaceport,  
__Westminster,  
__Britannia  
__October 15th, 3068_**

"Hey, watch what you're doing with that, you clot! You want to blow us all up, along with half the city?" snapped the tech.

The ordnance engineer just shrugged as he reversed the loader out from under the massive bomb. It rocked in its purpose-made cradle, threatening to fall out, onto the feet of the man tasked with ensuring it, along with the other eleven, were all rigged for remote detonation.

"Sometimes, I think it wouldn't be such a bad thing. Rather that than be ruled by the toaster worshippers".

"Well you may have a death wish, but I'm quite keen on living myself", the tech groused.

Although well used to working all kinds of unusual hours, he was nonetheless tired and stressed out. It was two o'clock in the morning. The huge dropship's cargo bays were cold and draughty as the environmental systems were currently offline. His eyes were strained from dealing with the harsh interior lighting and the darkness outside. The incessant patter of rain on the ship's hull was irritating. The rumble of thunder and intermittent lightning bolts grated on nerves already stretched to breaking point by the close proximity of over sixty tons of high explosive.

He glanced down at the floor. A couple of hundred feet below him, a group of nuclear ordnance techs were rigging a low-yield warhead, the only one they'd been able to find on short notice, with a separate detonation system. Shielded by a hardened casing, it would hopefully survive the impact and initial explosion and find its way into the enemy warship's interior before going off.

All around the ship, weapons technicians were working on the _Overlord's_ armament. As a final precaution, it had been decided that, to help breach the warship's armour, the dropship's weapons would be rigged to fire a limited number of alpha strikes in the final moments before impact.

Yet another group were on the flight deck, feverishly re-wiring the controls, so that the 11,000 ton vessel could be piloted remotely, while deep in the bowels of the ship, propulsion engineers worked to boost the output of the vessel's fusion reactor. With no personnel on board, the ship could accelerate much harder and faster than normal. She would need to as well, in order to avoid being intercepted or destroyed on her run to target.

"Suit yourself, but I thought the whole point of us coming all the way out here, living on the edge of known space, was to get away from those bastards".

"Is that the last of them?" asked the tech, ignoring the other man's comment.

"That's all of them". He glanced around the dropship's interior, "Rather you than me, mate".

"I thought you said you wouldn't mind being blown sky high?"

"Oh, I wouldn't. But I sure as hell wouldn't want to be the one to explain any screw-up to whatever lunatic came up with this idea".

* * *

**_WBS _Righteous Fury_,  
__Geosynchronous Orbit,  
__Britannia_**

"Status of the Santa Anas?"

Demi-Precentor Suranne Mireaux felt a faint flicker of annoyance, as she heard the icy tones of Precentor Omicron Jadis. As much as she resented the Manei Domini's presence on her ship, she knew better than to protest. The inclusion of Domini officers and troops on this mission went beyond even Cameron St Jamais, so they were evidently important to someone high up the Order…perhaps even the Master himself.

"The weapons officer reports they have isolated and contained the virus. However it is embedded deeply in the control software and it may require a full erase and reboot to remove it".

Mireaux heard a hiss of annoyance behind her, which made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"And how long does your weapons officer think it will take to restore full operational capability?"

"Another two to four hours, Precentor", Suranne replied, bracing herself for a tirade.

"And how soon until our fighter bays are operational again?" was the surprisingly calm response.

"Flight Control estimates anything from six to twelve hours, Precentor. The fluctuations in the power couplings and comms, means we run the risk of launching fighters straight into the bay doors, rather than through them".

"Damnation. And the Bismarck?"

"Truscott reports their fighter bays are also inoperative. His techs suspect it may be down to undetected faults during the ship's last refit".

"Never mind their fighters. Can they launch missiles yet?"

"Yes, Precentor, but they carry only conventional warheads. The Fury took the full allocation of nuclear warheads for this operation".

"Blake's Blood!" Jadis finally lost her temper, slamming a fist into the nearest console, making the Acolyte stationed there jump.

"When I find the ass responsible for the logistics planning, I'll have them transferred to the front lines before they know what hit them!"

* * *

**_David Cameron Spaceport,  
__Westminster,  
__Britannia_**

Adept Technician Euan Eavers stood slowly, stretching sore and cramped limbs, feeling the chill air in the cargo bay leech away more of his body heat. He began shivering again as he gathered up his tools, packing them carefully in his case and belt holster and methodically checking for any waste materials he may have left behind, out of sheer habit.

He slowly walked round each of the huge devices, visually checking they were securely strapped into their to cradles, evenly spaced in pairs around the bay. It wouldn't do for any of them to break free during the flight. He mentally ran through a checklist. Twelve so-called "bunker busters", over a hundred and twenty tons of ordnance in total, each one with its fuse mechanism rewired to be activated by a remote trigger, installed on the flight deck. Tired and stressed as he was, he still took the time to double check every aspect of his work.

He activated his wrist com unit. "Eavers here. I'm all done rigging the devices. Can you run a test of the remote trigger?"

"Wait one, Eavers. Still dialling in the signal frequency".

Euan waited patiently while the crew on the _Thatcher's_ flight deck, finished calibrating the trigger, using the time to open the diagnostic software on his notebook computer.

"Okay, sending trigger signal…now".

Eavers watched the screen intently, sending a silent prayer of thanks to the spirit of Jerome Blake as the graphics for each device flashed green. Any gremlins in the works at this late stage would jeopardise the mission, possibly forcing it to be scrubbed.

"How did that look?"

"Green all across the board. Just have to arm them and I'm done here. Make sure your lads keep the hell away from that trigger from now on".

"Copy that Euan. We're just about done in any case".

Eavers tapped out the command to arm the bombs' detonators. On the screen new graphics appeared and flashed red. The dropship was now a massive improvised explosive device.

One of the electronics techs clambered through a hatchway and looked around nervously before waving to him.

"All done here, sir?"

"Just this moment armed these beauties", Eavers said, closing his computer and tucking it in his shoulder bag, stretching and yawning. "Best be getting off this barge of doom, if you know what's good for you".

"Just as well. Adept Hughes has been chewing my arse off for the last ten minutes. We're already fifteen behind schedule".

He cast another nervous glance over the "secondary" payload. Even from a distance the giant bombs seemed to give off an evil aura.

"The brass are very keen to get this bird off the ground. Can't say I blame 'em".

"How are the rest of the crews doing?"

"We're just packing up in flight control. The nuke and weapons teams disembarked five minutes ago. The propulsion guys tell us they're just finishing up".

"I'm almost tempted to say a little prayer to Blake's spirit for the mission's success".

"You, me and every other poor sod still left on this rock, sir. The way I hear it, this is our last throw of the dice. If this doesn't work, we'll all be wearing different robes and building shrines to kitchen appliances".

He gently patted the hatchway, as if worried he might somehow set off the devices. "Fly straight and true, old girl", he said, staring up at the bay ceiling, "And send those toaster worshippers our warmest regards".

"Come on", said Eavers, "Lets get out of here before they decide to launch while we're still aboard".


	65. Covert Approach

**Planetary Command Centre,**  
**Undisclosed Location,**  
**Britannia**

"Sir, the tech crews at Cameron report the bird is ready to fly", said the comms officer, having to raise her voice to be heard over the general buzz of conversation.

"About bloody time!"

Precentor Commander Jackson half stood and thumped the table with his fist, before regaining his composure and sitting back down. Such was the level of tension in the room, all conversation momentarily stopped and all heads turned to look at Regent Sandringham.

William felt his stomach knot as he felt the weight of their expectant gazes. The last several hours had been a nerve-shredding wait, expecting at any moment to hear attack warnings. Despite the Word of Blake having taken control of the Coalition's satellite network, the Bunker was tied to a network of radar and radio stations, audiovisual systems, seismic sensors and even spectrometers, allowing those inside to build a detailed picture of the world outside.

So far, they had registered nothing other than nominal readings. In some ways it had just made things worse. News of the dropship's readiness caused a huge, if premature, release of tension. It was human nature to feel stress and anxiety when helpless to respond to an attack. The power to fight back always brought with it some measure of comfort.

Sandringham punched a button on his console, patching him through to a shuttle, sat on a launch pad on the surface, some two hundred metres above the control centre.

"Osprey, this is Clifftop. The Iron Lady stands ready".

He allowed himself a small smile. Even if the Blakists had somehow hacked their encryption systems, that sentence would be completely meaningless to them".

"Clifftop, this is Osprey, Stringfellow assures me her box of tricks is fully functional. All systems nominal here".

William thought he detected a hint of amusement in Swindelli's voice, though for the life of him he couldn't think why his one-time foe would find anything funny about his current situation. Sandringham felt genuine pangs of sympathy and concern for a man he'd have killed on the field of battle, without remorse, just a day earlier. It made him deeply uncomfortable – almost as much as Ricardo's abrupt about-face in loyalties and behaviour.

Was he reading his old enemy's behaviour correctly? Was he trying to ensure his own survival, as much as the Coalition's?

'_Or have I simply given him the means to betray us once more?'_

It was too late now. "Dammit!"

He barely realised he'd spoken aloud.

"Rest easy, old buddy. I don't want to see this world nuked any more than you do", Swindelli said, as if reading his thoughts.

"I never thought I'd ever say this, but Blake guide and protect you", William replied with surprising feeling.

"Hey, lets not go getting too sentimental just yet", Ricardo said dryly, scanning his console and displays one last time. Everything looked good to go.

"Osprey is go mission and ready to RV with the Iron Lady".

Swindelli eased the shuttle's engines to full throttle and the small craft slowly lifted off from the small, heavily defended airfield which served the planetary command centre. Fifty kilometres southwest, the _Margaret Thatcher_ completed her automated launch sequence. Her engines roared into life, shaking the launch gantry and propelling the lightly laden dropship rapidly into Britannia's dark grey skies.

* * *

**WBS **_Righteous Fury**,**_  
**Geosynchronous Orbit,**  
**Britannia**

"Demi-Precentor Mireaux, the Seed of Truth has docked with the techs and components", the comms officer reported dutifully, as ordered.

"Very well. Tell Adept Xiang-Zhou I expect hourly progress updates until our fighter bays are fully operational".

"Aye, sir".

Mireaux turned to address the chief engineer, "Are we any closer to being able to launch our capital missiles?" she snapped, "And if not, why not?"

Her fatigue and stress were being compounded by the spectre in the background that was Precentor Jadis. Her direct superior and overall mission commander had taken an unpleasantly active interest in proceedings since their failure to pacify the Coalition's capital.

"Our computer techs report they have been able to isolate the virus, but they have not yet found a way to destroy or deactivate it. They are in the process of replacing the infected hardware and uploading backup software".

"And how long is this going to take?" was the icy response.

"They estimate at least another hour, perhaps two".

Mireaux could only grind her teeth in frustration and try to avoid Jadis' cold, unforgiving gaze. It didn't work. The Manei Domini Precentor strode over to her side, so she could speak confidentially.

"This is going to reflect very badly on your performance evaluation", Jadis' voice, now a low hiss, played like a violin bow across Suranne's nerve endings.

"Security breaches, allowing a renegade officer to escape, failure to provide adequate support to our ground forces…need I continue?"

Mireaux whirled round to confront her tormentor, "And what of Demi-Precentor Truscott?" she demanded angrily. "He is as accountable for our lack of progress as anyone else!"

"Perhaps so, but he has the favour of Precentor Alastor, who in turn has the ear of Precentor St Jamais. Just or not, it seems the majority of the blame will fall upon you".

"Could you not speak on my behalf", Mireaux now sounded subdued, almost pleading, as she realised Jadis was merely speaking the truth.

"I might…if you were to provide some evidence you were worthy of my support".

* * *

**Shuttlecraft **_Incognito**,**_  
**RV Point, Low Planetary Orbit,**  
**Britannia**

"Osprey to Clifftop, we are on station. Awaiting arrival of Iron Lady".

Swindelli punched in commands to enable the shuttle's autopilot to keep the craft in position while they waited for the dropship.

Riding in the co-pilot's seat was Adept Gianna Paradisi, call sign Stringfellow. Her position was rather more cramped than usual, thanks to a large console, which included a miniature joystick and throttle, jury-rigged to the shuttle's onboard power supply and mounted on a sturdy swing-arm, which allowed her to get in and out of her seat. The oversized remote control unit emitted signals via an antenna, mounted in the nose.

Reaching over the remote control unit, she pointed at the sensor display. "Craft leaving the planet's surface, on approach. That's probably our friend".

"Got it. How soon before you have control?"

"They said the unit's range was good for one or two hundred klicks".

"Blake's Blood! We have to get _deep_ within weapon range of a Potemkin troop carrier?"

"As long as you play it cool, we should be okay".

"And as long as you don't make it obvious what you're going to do with that dropship. Think you can pull it off?"

Paradisi locked her fingers together and cracked her knuckles, "Piece of cake", she said, grinning at him.

"I envy you your confidence".

"I find your lack of faith disturbing", another grin, broader this time, which lit up her pretty Mediterranean features.

"Hey – don't be quoting Star Wars at me at a time like this!"

They continued to track the dropship's approach and Gianna gave a small whoop of delight as an alarm on her console sounded, alerting them it was now in range. She punched in a series of commands and responses, interrogating the _Overlord's_ flight control systems and patching control over to her console.

Her first attempts at controlling the 11,000 ton vessel were clumsy, until she learned to refine her operation of the joystick, throttle and thruster controls.

"Hmm. Okay, controls are starting to get sluggish now. Looks like that's maximum range".

Swindelli glanced over at the sensor display. "That's nearly three hundred klicks. Not bad – those boffins outdid themselves. Of course, its still _way_ closer than I'd like".

* * *

**WBS **_Righteous Fury**,**_  
**Geosynchronous Orbit,**  
**Britannia**

"Demi-Precentor Mireaux, unidentified dropship approaching. Its squawking a recognised transponder code, but not responding to hails".

Suranne Mireaux turned to her comms officer, "How can it be unidentified if its using a recognised transponder code?"

"Sir, it shows as the Seed of Truth, from the Bismarck, but its not a scheduled arrival and I can't raise her on comms".

Mireaux frowned and thought for a moment, "Contact Demi-Precentor Truscott and check there hasn't been a mix-up in the schedule. Confirm with Flight Ops".

"Aye, sir".

* * *

**Shuttlecraft **_Incognito**,**_  
**On Approach to WBS **_Righteous Fury_

"Okay, time to put the pedal to the metal".

Swindelli allowed himself a brief glance at the sensor display, then at Paradisi, before focusing his entire concentration back on piloting the shuttle.

"I'm amazed we made it this far. Sensor techs must be sleeping at their posts".

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, sir", Paradisi replied, setting her controls for the dropship's final kamikaze run.

"I'm pretty sure they'll notice something's up in the next minute or so. Better get ready to do some fancy flying".

"Don't remind me!"

Ricardo checked his own console and displays for what seemed like the umpteenth time. Flying from the RV point on an approach he knew to be frequently used by other Blakist vessels, he had positioned them in the transit lanes between the _Bismarck_ and the _Righteous Fury_, putting them on a parallel course with other dropships and shuttlecraft. He was careful to keep the _Incognito_ well behind the _Margaret Thatcher_, close to the maximum range of Tavaridis' control unit, in the next transit lane over, so it didn't look as though they were following it. The dropship was a medium-sized egg shape in the lower-right quadrant of his cockpit window. So far, everything had gone like clockwork. Unfortunately, at some point they were bound to be interrogated, immediately blowing their cover.

* * *

**WBS **_Righteous Fury**,**_  
**Geosynchronous Orbit,**  
**Britannia**

"Demi-Precentor, the Bismarck confirms the Seed of Truth is not scheduled for departure and is still at her docking collar".

Mireaux felt a chill creep up her spine at the comms officer's report.

"Sir, unidentified dropship is accelerating! By the Blessed Blake, that's impossible!"

"What's impossible?" Mireaux barked at the visibly shocked sensor officer.

"Sir, she is accelerating far harder than an Overlord should be capable of. She must be pulling over 5G, if these readings are correct".

"Range and bearing!"

"Six hundred kilometres and closing, bearing Zero Eight Seven! I'm also picking up a high-strength signal…tracing origins. Shuttlecraft, range nine hundred kilometres, bearing Zero Eight One. Its showing a recognised transponder code but the profile does not match any of our shuttlecraft".

"Comms, order that shuttle to hold position! I want to know…"

"Belay that order!"

Mireaux turned in mid-step as Jadis' icy voice cut through the general chatter on the bridge.

"Weapons, target both the dropship and shuttle. Destroy them immediately!"

* * *

**Shuttlecraft **_Incognito**,**_  
**On Approach to WBS **_Righteous Fury_

"Crap in a hat!"

Swindelli pushed the throttle to the stops and threw the shuttle into a series of loops and turns, while at the same time trying to maintain the gap to the dropship. They couldn't afford to lose control of it now, but he had to fight every instinct to turn and run, as the _Fury's_ massive capital scale weapons began to fire. Her naval lasers and PPCs could vapourise the shuttle with a single hit. The good news was they had slow recharge times and the _Incognito_ was a small, fast and highly manoeuvrable target. Better still, the _Fury's_ gunners had to pick and choose their shots with great care, lest they inadvertently hit the _Bismarck_.

He spared Gianna a brief glance. Her face was a mask of concentration as she performed similar aerobatics with the dropship.

"Take her down!"

"What?"

"Go under their weapon arcs, it'll buy us some time…quick, before we go out of range!"

"Frack!"

Ricardo shoved the joystick forward. In spaceflight mode, this activated attitude thrusters, rather than the flaps and rudder used in atmospheric flight. The _Incognito_ dipped out of the transit lane, following the speeding Overlord towards the underside of the _Fury's_ stern. Huge bolts of ionised particles and amplified light zipped overhead, appearing much closer than they were from the perspective of the shuttle's occupants.

Swindelli felt his heart rate crank up several notches. His chest was tight, he was breathing much more heavily and his mouth suddenly felt very dry. Although out of the troop carrier's broadside arcs, they were now broadcasting their intent to every Blakist in the vicinity. Every other shuttle and dropship had scattered as soon as the warship had fired its first shot and they were now alone in the gulf of empty space between the two greyish-white leviathans.

Had they got their capital missile launchers back online? Were their fighter bays now operational?

In a few more minutes it wouldn't matter. He didn't need the sensor displays any more to tell him the range. The _Righteous Fury_ now filled most of the cockpit canopy as he reached the bottom of his latest arc and began to pull up again. The _Margaret Thatcher_ was a small, darker grey blob against the warship's impossibly huge hull.

"How's it looking?"

"Just need a few more minutes to line her up for final approach".

"Make sure that's all it is. Dunno how much longer I can keep playing dodgeball with their gunners".

* * *

**WBS **_Righteous Fury_**,  
Geosynchronous Orbit,  
Britannia**

"Demi-Precentor Mireaux, are you in trouble? Can we assist in any way?"

Suranne tried not to jump as Demi-Precentor Truscott's face appeared on the main viewscreen.

"It appears we have a pocket warship attempting to inflict some critical damage on us. It seems the enemy is attempting one last desperate gamble before we overwhelm them".

"Shall we attempt to target them?"

"Negative. Can you launch your fighters yet?"

"Negative. Our techs are still repairing the bay door power couplings".

"Then the best thing you can do is keep working on it. We will advise if we need further assistance".

"Acknowledged".

Truscott's face disappeared, to be replaced with a view of the space directly ahead.


	66. Kill Shot

**Shuttlecraft **_Incognito**,**_  
**On Approach to WBS **_Righteous Fury_

"Okay, she's locked in. Bringing weapons online and engines up to max. throttle. Get us out of here, sir".

Swindelli didn't need telling twice. Maxing the shuttlecraft's engines once more, he sent the small craft into a corkscrewing dive, under the _Righteous Fury's_ stern, clearing her underside by less than a hundred metres.

"How long we got?"

"Less than two minutes".

"Blake's Blood! You do remember what the blast radius is for a tactical nuke, right?"

"Of course, sir. Much less in a vacuum than in atmosphere".

"Oh, yeah".

Ricardo had forgotten to factor that in. Still, he'd have preferred being a lot further away when it went off.

Paradisi flipped the cover off a large red button on her console.

"How are you gonna know when to push that thing?"

"Proximity alarm. It'll activate just before impact".

"Oh crap!"

Swindelli rolled the shuttle violently and executed a hard bank to the left as the _Fury's_ close range weapons opened fire. Consisting of mech class lasers and missiles, they didn't have anything like the punch of the warship's main armament, but a few hits would be all it took to turn the _Incognito_ into a flaming ball of wreckage.

Now some distance behind them, the _Margaret Thatcher_ accelerated to maximum speed, which was far faster than she'd been designed to go. Her hull and internal structure began to creak and groan in protest as the G forces exerted began to deform the plating and support struts. Fire from the _Fury_ began to shatter and vapourise her armour plating. However, it had been substantially upgraded during her hasty refit and she continued to home in remorselessly on her target.

She was now within range for her own weapons. Multiple targeting systems locked on to the intended impact point. Cycling through her LRM launchers, lasers and gauss rifles, she fired one, two, three and a fourth alpha strike, unleashing enough firepower to cause critical damage to another dropship, but only succeeding in chipping away the warship's outer layers of protection. The accumulated heat build-up damaged many of her weapons systems, but by then it no longer mattered. Alarms sounded, warning that her structural integrity was failing, but she was now just seconds from impact.

On board the shuttle, an alarm sounded from Paradisi's console. Having kept a tight grip on the dropship's flight controls, throughout Swindelli's aerobatics, she simply let go of the joystick and slammed her palm on the button.

The impact alone of 11,000 tons of dropship, travelling at the speed of a heavy aerospace fighter, was sufficient to breach the warship's armour. Coupled with over sixty tons of high explosive detonating, it was sufficient to create a hull breach nearly a hundred metres wide, just forward of her KF drive core. The dropship's crushed nose was turned into hundreds of tons of white-hot metal vapour, which destroyed anything it touched. The mid-section of the hull simply vapourised, then almost instantly froze, creating an expanding silvery mist of solidified metal particles, which would have looked quite pretty to anyone observing. The lower decks and engines were turned into mangled wreckage during their passage through the _Fury's_ hull, their remaining contents spilling out and adding to the carnage within. A large ferrotitanium case, scorched black from its passage through the fires, impacted heavily in the midst of the hellish scenes, deep in the bowels of the stricken warship.

* * *

**WBS **_Righteous Fury_**,  
Geosynchronous Orbit,  
Britannia**

"All stations report!"

Demi-Precentor Suranne Mireaux grabbed the nearest handrail and slowly dragged herself to her feet, wincing as she put weight on her right ankle. She gingerly investigated the sharp, stabbing pain in the back of her head and her hand came away wet with blood.

The dropship's impact and subsequent explosion had been sufficient to push the giant warship a few degrees off course, generating enough kinetic energy to overcome the grip generated by the crew's magnetic boots. She, along with everyone else on the bridge, who had not been seated, had been hurled across the deck, only stopping when their boots had found something else to clamp on to…or when they hit something solid. In her case it had been both and she'd ended up with her right leg trapped at an awkward angle underneath her, pinned under another crewman against the holotank.

The responses to her order were sporadic, panicked and confused.

"No response from engineering. Engines and helm are down!"

"Environmental systems are down. Temperature and air pressure falling!"

"Sensors detecting fires in multiple sections from the fighter bays to just forward of the drive core. Rising CO2 levels and multiple airborne toxins. Also picking up increased radiation levels!"

"Reading power fluctuations in the drive core, spiking at dangerous levels. Could be looking at a core breach!"

"Abandon ship!"

Mireaux turned unsteadily, holding her aching head to find the source of that harsh, yet familiar voice. As well as cutting through the din and chaos, it also cut through her head like a surgeon's laser scalpel.

Precentor Jadis stood in the centre of the bridge, an island of calm, apparently unperturbed by the attack. A steady trickle of blood flowed from her right temple and her white jumpsuit was stained crimson in several places, whether from her own blood or others' was not clear.

With a clear and definitive order they were only too eager to obey, the crew sprang into action. The comms officer sounded the alarm and gave the order to abandon ship. Whether anyone was listening or even if the com systems were working, it was impossible to tell.

Jadis remained in place just long enough to hear the order given, before striding from the bridge and disappearing. To their credit the bridge crew carried out their duties to the letter before following her. Mireaux took one last look around, before making her way to the escape pods.

Ricardo Swindelli noticed a dramatic slackening in the amount of fire directed at them. Craning his neck to look out the cockpit's side windows, he could see scorch marks and craters in the wings, showing where the _Fury's_ gunners had found their target. He didn't even want to think what the rest of the craft looked like. A quick glance below told him they were approaching Britannia's upper atmosphere. He set the shuttle into a wide, banking turn, on a return course to the warship they'd just fled from.

"Time for the grand finale".

"Thanks sir, I wouldn't want to miss this for the world".

Adept Gianna Paradisi flipped the cover off a small key, bordered by red and white markings, already set into its socket on the console and twisted it.

For a split second, the _Righteous Fury_ was silhouetted against a blinding white flash, before her aft midsection disappeared in an expanding cloud of multi-hued plasma, which rapidly engulfed several hundred metres of the hull, either side of its point of origin.

"Blake's Blood!" Gianna's oath was muted with shock.

"Yep. That's somethin' alright", was Swindelli's more pragmatic response.

"I've never seen anything that big blow up before".

"Wish I couldn't say so, but I've seen worse", Swindelli sighed, his voice tinged with regret.

In the space of a few seconds, the nuclear fire had burned itself out, leaving the once-proud vessel torn in two blast-ravaged halves, drifting out of control and spilling trails of debris from their gutted innards.

"Funny, I expected it to be worse…like completely disintegrated".

"Remember it was only a baby nuke, 5 kilotons or so and like you said yourself, all explosives lose a big chunk of their punch in a vacuum".

"I thought I'd be happy…or at least feel like we'd won some kind of victory", said Gianna, frowning as she struggled to sort out her emotions.

Ricardo looked across at her. "Yeah, it can get you that way. You don't know if you're happy you've won, or disgusted at what you've done".

She returned his gaze, smiling weakly in appreciation at his understanding.

Ricardo sighed again, "Come on kiddo, lets get the hell out of here before the Bismarck opens up a can of vengeance-flavoured whoop-ass on us".

"You sure this thing will survive a re-entry?" Gianna asked anxiously, staring out at the shuttle's battle scars.

"No idea", Swindelli replied, taking a deep breath, "But I already landed one damaged shuttle. Shouldn't be too hard to repeat the trick".

He shook his head, "How can the same shit happen to the same guy twice?"

* * *

**WBS **_Bismarck_**,  
Geosynchronous Orbit,  
Britannia**

Demi-Precentor Fabian Truscott looked on in horror at the events unfolding several hundred hundred kilometres to the _Bismarck's_ port side. From the moment the _Fury_ had begun firing at her unknown assailant, he'd ordered the hull-mounted cameras to send a magnified view of the troop carrier to the main viewscreen. He now regretted that decision, as the detail being transmitted to them was far more than he cared to see.

"Sir, I'm reading incoming jump signatures, bearing One Seven One, range fifty thousand and bearing One Eight Five, range one hundred thousand!"

Truscott whirled around, almost grateful for the distraction, "Characteristics?"

"Nearest contact is a likely a frigate, looks like a Quixote class, farthest contact is probably a destroyer, not enough data to determine class".

He stood frozen with indecision. On the one hand, the McKenna carried more than enough weaponry to deal with each vessel separately. However, a co-ordinated attack, forcing him to divide his firepower, would level the playing field and possibly even tilt it in the enemy's favour.

"Get us out of here!"

Truscott turned to face the tall, robed figure behind him.

"Precentor Alastor, I don't think we need to…"

"Don't think, Demi-Precentor. Just give the order. I do not intend to fall prey to another surprise attack".

Truscott continued to hesitate and Alastor took a few steps towards him. The Manei Domini's height and build were imposing enough on their own. The malevolent blue glow of his cybernetic eye, while the rest of his features were hidden in the shadow of his hood, gave him a vaguely demonic appearance.

"Very well Precentor. Where would you have us go?"

"I do not particularly care. Any adjacent star system should be adequate…no, we should double-jump to break contact fully. I trust I can leave you to make the necessary arrangements?"

Alastor's pitiless gaze continued to bore into him and Truscott felt his remaining will to protest dissolve.

"As you wish Precentor. Blake's Will be done".

He turned to the helmsman. "Find the nearest star system and plot a jump to a random pirate point. When selecting our second jump point, make sure its on a different bearing".

"Aye, sir".

* * *

**BCS **_Indefatigable**,**_  
**Nadir Jump Point,**  
**Britannia System**

"Contact, bearing Zero One Three, range fifty thousand!"

The sensor operator's cry snapped Demi-Precentor Elizabeth Arden out of her reverie. Having been alerted weeks ago that their home was under attack, they'd made a frantic flight back to Coalition space, leaving behind the god-forsaken pirate worlds, between the Rim Collection and the Royalist Alliance. They'd spent the time preparing as best they could, but had little idea of what they would face when they returned.

"Ident?"

"Profile registers as a McKenna class battleship. Transponder code shows her as the Word of Blake Ship Bismarck".

Arden couldn't blame the sensor operator for the slight tremor in her voice. Even with the _Indy's_ hugely upgraded armour and weaponry, the _Quixote_ class frigate was still no match for the one and a half million ton monster, which at present registered as a mere speck in the distance, even with the view screen set to maximum magnification.

"Sir?" enquired her XO quietly, standing by her side.

Elizabeth forced down a sigh of resignation. Their choices were limited to precisely one.

"Battle stations".

Before her XO could give the order, they were interrupted by the sensor operator again.

"Incoming jump signature, bearing Two Seven Three, range fifty thousand! Bloom matches an Essex class destroyer".

"What the hell?"

"Emerging now…attempting to ID".

The tension on the bridge ramped up over the next few minutes, as the sensor operator waited for the massive cloud of EM energy produced by interstellar jumps to dissipate, allowing the _Indy's_ sensors to read the new arrival's transponder signal.

"Transponder signal matches the RAS Sevastopol…she's an Alliance ship!"

The news was greeted with a mixture of relief and puzzlement.

"Comms, signal them. I want to know what the Royalist Alliance are doing in our space. I doubt their intentions are hostile, but we'd be idiots to take anything for granted right now".

"Sir, I'm picking up a massive energy surge from the McKenna! She's preparing to jump!"

Arden raised an eyebrow, her only visible reaction to the news, though inside her stomach unknotted itself with relief.

"Well, we're still too far away to engage. Looks like she'll be someone else's problem now. Remain at battle stations, I want us ready in case there are any more surprises".


	67. Running Blind

**WBS **_Bismarck_**,  
Pirate Jump Point,  
Newcastle System**

Fabien Truscott gripped the console handrail to steady himself, as the customary dizziness and nausea that were brought on by interstellar travel, fought to rob him of his composure.

On the main viewscreen, normal space dissolved into a blur of lights and shadows, the darkness being the nothingness of hyperspace and the eerie lights a curious by-product of the vast energies unleashed by the ship's K-F drive core.

Thirty light years were crossed in just a few moments. A low ominous hum was both heard and felt as the jump drive began powering down. The spectral otherworld on the viewscreen disappeared and normal space returned.

Before he'd even begun to reorient himself there came another urgent call from the sensor operator.

"Sir, I'm reading a massive contact at the L2 point, bigger than anything I've ever seen!"

Truscott swallowed hard several times, fighting back the urge to vomit. The condition had dogged him his entire career and numerous attempts at treating it had only succeeded in making it barely tolerable, as opposed to cripplingly debilitating.

"I need more than that, Acolyte if I'm to make a decision what to do about it!" he snapped.

Precentor Alastor looked on from the holotank, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts. Looking at Truscott's ashen, perspiring features, he wondered if the mission might be better served if he took command. He dismissed the idea quickly. He had never taken much of an interest in spacecraft, or in navigating these huge leviathans of the deep black among the stars. He knew his expertise lay in ground-based warfare, commanding divisions of mechs and armoured troops. If there was anything out there to worry about, it would be better to trust the ship's crew to deal with it. Truscott might not inspire confidence, but those under him were seasoned spacefarers, controlling one of the largest, most powerful warships ever built.

His thoughts were interrupted by another shout from the sensor operator.

"Sir, still unable to identify contact, but general characteristics suggest it's a space station of some kind. Size and configuration suggest it's a dockyard".

Truscott's eyebrows raised at this news. "It seems our luck has turned, Precentor", he said, turning to Alastor.

"It appears we have inadvertently stumbled on an easy target. If we capture it intact, it will help speed our repairs dramatically. We should also be able to secure a substantial quantity of supplies".

The Manei Domini Precentor looked thoughtful for a moment, before replying.

"I will defer to your judgement on this matter. You know better than I what this vessel requires. If you believe we can capture this station with minimal losses, then it would be foolish to pass up such an opportunity".

Truscott nodded eagerly, keen to impress Alastor and finally score a major success on what had so far been a sorely disappointing mission.

"Adept Manson, bring us to battle stations! Helm, set course Zero One Three and bring us in nice and steady. I don't want to spook them. We don't know what other assets they may have in system and the last thing we need is for them to call for help".

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard **_Arcturus_**,**  
**L2 Point,**  
**Newcastle System,**  
**Britannic Coalition**

"Contact! Bearing Three Four Seven, range 250,000km. ID as a McKenna class battleship".

Precentor Everett Shackleton turned in surprise at the sensor operator's call.

"Not one of ours then. Transponder ID?"

"Still too far away for a reading, sir".

"Any scheduled external arrivals today?" Shackleton asked, turning to the Yard Master.

"No, sir. No inbound traffic expected today", the grizzled old spacefarer replied, checking his screen, even though he knew the schedule from memory.

That was all Everett needed to hear.

"Sound battle stations, but use internal warnings only and I want weapons on standby mode. No scanning or targeting of the vessel either until I say so. I want them to think we're completely oblivious to their intentions".

"Aye, sir!"

"Oh and set your stopwatch. Lets see if we can beat our record this time".

"I'll make sure we do, sir!"

Demi-Precentor Fallon Carew began directing orders to the rest of the command deck, starting a chain reaction, that would culminate in Arcturus attaining full battle readiness.

The Arcturus station was an unusual facility with a somewhat convoluted history. Originally intended to serve as a general purpose dockyard, it was mostly crewed by civilians. Displacing nearly one million tonnes, it had a dozen repair bays, capable of servicing anything from a corvette to all but the largest battleships.

Given how large and valuable an asset it was, it had been decided to outfit it with a considerable amount of weaponry and armour, to protect it from pirate raids and incursions by less-than-friendly neighbouring Periphery states. It was then realised that its location at the system's Lagrange 2 Point, also made it ideal as a planetary defence installation. Consequently, its armour and weaponry had been upgraded further. Fighter bays had also been added, enabling the station commander to launch a fighter screen, if necessary.

After protracted negotiations, the civilian Cygnus Astra staff had found themselves contracted to the Defence Ministry. To help integrate them with their employers, they had adopted military style uniforms and even a ranking system, instead of job titles. The actual military personnel were limited to a handful of command staff, the weapon crews and aerospace pilots. The atmosphere was relatively informal and relaxed, borne out of the fact that not a single attack had occurred since the station had become operational. The semi-formal relations between the civvies and BCAF personnel also just helped make life easier in the station's usually crowded and chaotic environs. That was all about to change.

Shackleton found himself pacing up and down the narrow arc of open floor, between what passed as the Arcturus's bridge station and the nearest bank of control consoles. His eyes scanned the room, taking in the activity and wished he had something to do other than wait.

He paused to look at the main viewscreen. The system's sun was a distant glowing ball of yellow fire, the innermost planets tiny black specks against its luminous mass. Beyond lay the black, diamond-flecked darkness of space. Somewhere out there was the enemy battleship, still invisible at this range. Actually, he knew precisely where it was, since the sensor operator had uploaded its positional data to the holotank, but not being able to see one's foe with the naked eye always left him feeling a little uneasy.

He glanced to his left to see Carew glancing at her wrist, her foot tapping impatiently. One by one the section chiefs began to report back their readiness, informing the department heads on the command deck, who in turn called their status to Carew.

Her finger stabbed a button on her chronograph the instant the last call came in.

Everett gazed at her with a raised eyebrow. "How did we do?"

Carew returned his gaze with a broad grin. "Took nine seconds off our previous best time. We did it sir – we set a new record!"

"That's what I wanted to hear. I'll have to arrange some extra R&R for the crew. They deserve it".

Now came the hard part…the waiting. The unknown vessel was making slow but steady progress from her emergence point, her current speed and course equated to an estimated time of arrival of nearly four hours. Until then they could only speculate as to her identity and the intentions of her crew. Given what had been happening in the Coalition of late, it was unlikely to be a social call.

"Sir, rather than just waiting around like this, how about we run some battle simulations?" Carew asked, glancing around the command deck and noting the tense, anxious expressions on every crew member's face. A scene no doubt replicated all over the station.

"Its been a few months since our last battle drills. It would help get the crew into game mode and give them something to do, other than just manning their posts for the next few hours".

Under normal circumstances no commander would ever contemplate running an exercise right before a potential combat action, but on this remote outpost, they were only run two or three times a year, as they invariably hampered the work of the repair bays…which made the Cygnus Astra management very unhappy. Shackleton knew from personal experience that waiting for a battle to begin often ramped up the stress levels of the combatants. An unscheduled exercise would help them mentally prepare for what was to come, while the activity would help relieve the nervous tension.

"Do it", he said, nodding at his XO. "We've got time to kill and I want our troops loose and alert if and when the time comes for us to act".

Carew began punching buttons on her console, bringing the station's training system online and entering the data for a scenario that would mirror the one they could be about to face. Fortunately there was an existing programme and she only had to make a few minor alterations. She hit the execute command and suddenly alarms began sounding throughout the station and display screens everywhere were suddenly filled with simulation data.

She began issuing orders and requests for information. The command deck crew responded quickly and calmly, as expected.

Everett turned to the sensor operator. "Transfer the sensor plot to the main viewer, window-in-window format with the external camera view. I don't want us forgetting we have a real, potential target out there".

* * *

**WBS **_Bismarck_**,  
Newcastle System**

Demi-Precentor Truscott nodded in approval as the results of the latest battle simulation came through. The crew had been training for a variety of scenarios, since the mission had begun over six months ago and the scores showed it. Low response times, high accuracy in weapons drills and crew members able to swap roles and adapt to changing situations, including dealing with damage and casualties. Every category showed an above-average to excellent rating. His crew were as ready as they could be.

He glanced at the main viewer. Just as well. The space station loomed large in the near distance, almost filling the screen at zero magnification. That meant they would soon be within weapons range.

He felt a slight pang of unease as Precentor Alastor walked slowly over to him.

"That appeared to go well. You are satisfied with the crew's performance?"

Truscott forced a smile. "More than satisfied, Precentor. In fact that was probably the best battle drill I've ever participated in. You are welcome to check the results for yourself, if you wish".

Alastor stared down at the smaller man, his True eye scanning in its various modes. The _Frail_ was being truthful, judging from his physiological responses.

"I will take your word for it".

He glanced at the main viewscreen. "You will be calling battle stations shortly?"

"Soon. I'd like to get a little closer and send a shuttle or fighter to recon the station to get an idea of what defences it has, potential weak spots and such".

Alastor merely nodded before walking away.

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard **_Arcturus**,  
**_**L2 Point,****  
Newcastle System**

"Ident confirmed! Inbound vessel's transponder signal shows her as the WBS Bismarck!"

The sensor operator's call cut through the hubbub of the exercise like a vibroblade and temporarily silenced all conversation.

"The Bismarck? Isn't she the one that destroyed the Hood?" Shackleton said quietly.

Carew just nodded.

"That makes this very personal then".

The sensor operator cut in again. "She's not responding to hails either, sir. Wait one…incoming transmission".

"Put it on-screen", said Everett, gesturing to the main viewscreen. "Our people have a right to see who they're up against".

He immediately wished he hadn't as the visage that appeared made his heart skip a beat and his blood turn to ice in his veins.

"I am Precentor Omicron Alastor, commander of the Word of Blake 66th Shadow Division. As your sensors are doubtless showing, I also have at my disposal a McKenna class battleship. Although it is fully operational, we do require some supplies and maintenance. Provided you allow us to dock without resistance, I will not order her captain to open fire. Any attempt to prevent us assuming control of your station will be met with lethal force".

Shackleton forced himself to remain impassive and return the Manei Domini's stare unflinchingly. He remembered the fate of the Admiral Hood and her crew and the ice began to turn to a burning desire for vengeance.

"I am Precentor Everett Shackleton, commander of the Arcturus station and the only way you'll take control of it is over my dead body".

The calmness of his words masked the growing fury at the knowledge of who their enemy was and the naked aggression being shown towards them.

Alastor's expression didn't change one iota. "So be it".

The transmission terminated and his face vanished from the screen.

Shackleton turned to address the bridge, "All hands to battle stations! Fighter wing on standby. Activate all point defences and countermeasures!"

He had to grip the handrail behind him tightly with both hands to keep from shaking with the adrenaline now coursing through his body.


	68. More Than Meets the Eye

**WBS **_Bismarck**,**_**  
****Newcastle System**

"Strange. They must surely understand the futility of any form of resistance…yet that is exactly what they choose to do", Alastor mused.

"I shall order the dropships and fighters to launch and give them a small taste of what they can expect if they continue to defy us. Perhaps then they will realise their folly", Truscott laughed darkly.

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard **_Arcturus_**,  
L2 Point,  
Newcastle System**

"Multiple contacts! The Bismarck is launching her dropships! Numerous smaller contacts…she must be launching her fighters too!"

"How many of those things does a McKenna carry?" asked Shackleton.

"Up to fifty, if I remember the specs correctly", Carew replied, an identical expression of concern on her face.

The _Arcturus_ had a full Level III or Wing of aerospace fighters stationed on board, fourteen less than the _Bismarck_ carried. Although the station was heavily armed and well protected, a concerted attack could still inflict considerable damage.

"Launch fighters! At least they can distract the McKenna's birds and allow our gunners to concentrate on the dropships".

The order was passed and far below the command deck, thirty-six _Corsair_ aerospace fighters exited, in groups of six, at five minute intervals, from the station's three fighter bays. Quickly forming a screen, they headed out to meet the inbound Blakist forces.

* * *

**WBS **_Bismarck_**,**  
**Newcastle System**

"It appears they have some defensive capability after all".

Truscott stared out of the viewscreen, the first pangs of anxiety beginning to prick at the edges of his consciousness.

'_If they have a fighter complement that size, what static defences might they have?'_

As if by magic, Alastor had appeared at his side, after reports had come in from their fighters that the station had launched its own screen.

"So, they intend to make us work for our prize".

He shrugged. A surprisingly eloquent gesture for a man with so many cybernetic implants and prosthetics.

"I would have preferred it had we been able to bring some drone fighters and a control ship for this mission. They would have been especially useful here, but I still doubt they have anything in their defences to worry us".

As they watched the two fighter groups engaged, merging into a single swirling meleé. Brilliant beams of laser and particle cannon fire lanced out from the combatants, along with the more muted tongues of flame from autocannon and puffs of smoke, indicating missile launches.

Despite being outnumbered, the Coalition fighters began to execute their plan to draw the enemy fighters away from their target. This still left the small matter of the half-dozen assault dropships, which were rapidly closing the range at maximum thrust.

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard **_Arcturus**,**_  
**L2 Point,**  
**Newcastle System**

"Six Triumph class dropships inbound. Bearings Three Five Two through Zero One Five. Range fifty to seventy klicks, closing fast!"

"I think that's close enough", Shackleton said in an almost conversational tone. "Time to roll out the welcome mat".

He glanced over at Demi-Precentor Carew, "Missiles only for now. We don't want to overplay our hand".

Carew nodded and passed the order on to the weapons control officer, who in turn would send it on to the weapon crews.

The _Arcturus's_ armament included a dozen AR10 capital missile launchers, spaced evenly around its circular main hull. Although heavier, bulkier and considerably more expensive than single-type launchers, they were far more versatile, being able to fire any type of capital missile. Each launcher was fed by magazines containing a mix of Barracuda, White Shark and Killer Whale missiles. Currently, only half the launchers were able to target the incoming dropships. To ensure maximum kill probability, the weapons officer ordered all six to target the lead dropship, sending half a dozen White Shark missiles at it. They were less powerful, but faster and more manoeuvrable than the heavier Killer Whales, better suited to relatively agile targets such as dropships.

They covered the distance in a matter of minutes and despite the pilot's best efforts, throwing the aerodyne craft into a series of evasive manoeuvres, only two missiles lost lock. The remaining four homed in remorselessly, impacting on the nose, starboard wing and fuselage, tearing gaping holes in the vessel's structure. The _Triumph_ continued on course for several hundred metres, trailing debris and smoke from internal fires, before the 8,000 ton craft's rear and mid section erupted in a fireball, the nose section eerily spinning clear of the blast, relatively unscathed.

* * *

**WBS **_Bismarck**,**_  
**Newcastle System**

Truscott stared open-mouthed as the lead ship in the formation disappeared in a massive explosion. His worst fears had been realised as soon as the first radio transmission had started coming back, informing the Bismarck that they were under attack.

"Sir, the other pilots are asking if you wish them to continue the attack", the communications officer called.

He shook himself out of his trance and tried to come to a decision.

'_I cannot appear weak in front of Alastor'._

"Sir, the Shield of Faith is reporting they are under attack and requesting orders. Do you want them to pull back?"

Truscott glanced up at Alastor, who merely stared back impassively.

Another large blossom of flame caught his peripheral vision and he stared out the main viewscreen again.

"Sir, we've lost the Shield! The other pilots are requesting to be allowed to withdraw. What shall I tell them, sir?"

'_Mission and reputation be damned! I'll not send my men on a suicide mission like this'_

"Call them off! Order them to return and dock at once!"

"It seems we will have to do this ourselves".

Truscott jumped as he realised Alastor had appeared at his side once again, without him noticing. It was just another trait which intensified his dislike of the Manei Domini.

"Do you still believe we can capture this station without incurring any further losses or sustaining significant damage?"

Truscott thought for a moment. "Their missiles will inflict some damage on us. However, we have launchers of our own and once we get into range of our other weapons, I believe we will quickly overwhelm them. They will be begging us to accept their surrender before we blow the station out from under them".

"So you think the risk is still acceptable?"

For the first time since they had met, Truscott looked Alastor squarely in the eye.

"Yes. They will pay dearly for the loss of those dropships".

He turned to the weapons officer, "Tell the crews to stand by. I want a volley of missiles targeted at the station, as soon as we are in range".

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard **_Arcturus**,  
**_**L2 Point,****  
Newcastle System**

"Remaining dropships are reversing course. Bismarck continuing to close", called the sensor operator.

Shackleton could see for himself, looking out the viewscreen, but acknowledged the officer's message with a curt nod.

"She'll soon be in missile range", said Carew quietly. "Things may get a little hairy then".

Shackleton smiled, "I'm counting on it".

* * *

**WBS **_Bismarck**,  
**_**Newcastle System**

"Entering missile range. Missiles away. All bays report clean launches".

"Tell them to continue to fire at will".

Truscott turned back to the main viewscreen and watched as the first quartet of Killer Whale missiles streaked away from the forward AR10 launchers. The McKenna's original design had allowed for four launchers, mounted in the forward left and right arcs, plus two aft. The _Bismarck_ had been heavily modified during her last refit, giving up much of her 200,000 tons of cargo space to mount additional weaponry. She now sported two additional pairs of launchers in her broadside arcs, as well as additional energy weapons. The original McKennas had been devastating in combat, their mere size and presence enough to strike fear into the heart of an enemy. Three hundred years on, now sporting the latest technology the Inner Sphere had to offer, the _Bismarck_ was one of the most powerful warships in existence.

The range continued to close and more missiles left the launch bays at regular intervals, until a wide spread were headed towards the station, like a school of their aquatic Terran namesakes, homing in on a wounded whale.

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard **_Arcturus**,  
**_**L2 Point,****  
Newcastle System**

"We've got missile launch! Look like Killer Whales from their signatures".

The sensor operator's warning served to provide some detail for the automated defence system's warning klaxon.

Shackleton merely nodded acknowledgement. The station's defence grid was already active. There was nothing else they could do now except wait. The tension on the bridge, already high, ramped up another couple of notches as the missiles, invisible at first, slowly became small, grey blobs. They stayed that was for some time, until they were almost within striking range, whereupon they rapidly resolved into sharp, distinct shapes, travelling at incredible speed. A muted cacophony of noise broke out as the _Arcturus'_ defences went active, a barrage of pulse laser fire, anti-missile shells, which burst into clouds of shrapnel. Thermal and radar decoys were also deployed in an attempt to lure them off course.

Muted cheers broke out as first one, then another and another missile detonated in mid-flight. Inevitably though, some got through. Dull rumbles of thunder echoed through the hull, faint vibrations even making themselves felt on the bridge as three Killer Whales broke through the defensive screen and found their mark.

"Damage report!" Shackleton barked, raising his voice to make himself heard over the increased chatter.

The civilian Chief Engineer glanced up from his station, radio headset pressed to his ear as information continued to come in.

"Minor hull breaches on the engineering decks. Repair crews already en route. Some internal shock damage and a few backup systems are down, but nothing serious".

"Do you want us to return fire, sir?" called the weapons officer.

"Whats the range?"

"Five hundred klicks and closing, sir".

"Hold fire until she's within range of our main weapons. I want to return the compliment with interest".

* * *

**WBS **_Bismarck**,  
**_**Newcastle System**

"They do not return fire. I wonder what they are waiting for?"

Truscott fidgeted nervously. He'd managed to keep Precentor Alastor at arm's length for most of the mission, speaking to the Manei Domini officer only when absolutely necessary. Now his almost continual presence was driving him to distraction, rendering him unable to think clearly.

"Perhaps they have realised the futility of fighting us and have decided to surrender?"

"Perhaps, but we have underestimated these heretics too many times. Prepare to turn and engage with our broadside weapons when we are in range. A demonstration of our full might should ensure their compliance".

"As you wish, sir".

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard **_Arcturus**,  
**_**L2 Point,****  
Newcastle System**

"They are in range of our main batteries, sir!"

"Open fire!"

Just giving the command was a huge release of tension for Everett Shackleton.

The station had been designed and laid out in quadrants, with each one carrying an identical array of weapons. As the main and secondary decks rotated about the station's static core, to create artificial gravity onboard, each quadrant, or sector, would come to bear on the target for several minutes. While the point defence weapons were computer controlled for better accuracy against smaller, faster targets, the _Arcturus'_ main weapons were operated by gun crews. While they lacked the speed and accuracy of machines, they more than compensated with their ability to keep the weapons functioning, repairing any damage and improvising when systems went down.

"Firing!"

Shackleton glanced back at the viewscreen in time to see the engines of the two Killer Whales ignite, propelling them towards the behemoth Blakist warship at supersonic speed. Even with a head start, however, they were easily beaten to the target by the six pulsating ultraviolet-hued Heavy Naval PPC lances that reached across the void, striking the _Bismarck_ along its starboard side, as the ship began to execute a high-speed turn. Joining in the barrage were a pair of heavy naval gauss rifles, their pale cyan discharges of intense electromagnetic energy visible for just an instant. The intense ruby red glow of a dozen class 55 naval lasers followed, searing through the darkness like the claws of a vengeful predator.

"Shove that in your pipe and smoke it", Everett muttered.


	69. Coup de Grace

**WBS** _Bismarck,  
_**Newcastle System**

Truscott grabbed hold of the handrail at his station as the _Bismarck_ tilted to port, unbalanced by the loss of many tons of armour along her starboard side. Precentor Alastor, unused to warship combat, was caught off guard and crashed heavily into a control console, his prosthetic limbs causing considerable damage to the equipment. He shrugged it off, apparently unhurt, although the human side of his face registered anger and surprise.

To add insult to injury, a number of the gun crews fired on reflex, their shots missing high.

"Helm, execute roll to present port batteries and come about to course One Zero Nine!", Truscott yelled, still clinging to the rail for dear life as inertia continued to try and make him float across the bridge.

He forced his feet to touch the deck and activated the magnets built into the soles of his zero-gee boots. Judging from the way he righted himself, Alastor's prosthetic legs had a similar device built into the feet.

"Damage report!" he yelled at the Adept technician who served as chief engineer.

"Substantial armour loss along the starboard side, but no breaches".

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard** _Arcturus,  
_**L2 Point,**  
**Newcastle System**

"She's rolling – preparing to present her port batteries!"

"Can we get off another volley?"

"Main batteries still recycling".

Shackleton forced himself to stay still as his earlier tension reasserted itself. He reminded himself that warship combat was essentially a chess game with guns, where the players needed to think a move or two in advance and that the moves themselves could take minutes. Minutes which seemed to stretch into agonising hours.

His patience was rewarded when, a few minutes later, the _Arcturus'_ Sector 1 batteries opened up again, savaging the belly of the 1.9 million ton leviathan. There was no discernible critical damage, but every blow was a step closer to victory. Now the station's rotation was bringing the Sector Two batteries into play, their gunners primed and already zeroing in on the target.

They opened fire while the _Bismarck_ was still in mid-roll, destroying her upper ventral fin, critical for helping dissipate the ferocious heat build up generated by her weapons. Various other masts and blisters were also obliterated by the barrage.

"Dammit!" Shackleton growled, thumping the back of his command chair.

"They've jumped the gun. Now the toaster worshippers have a clear shot at us and we won't be able to do a damn thing back".

"I wouldn't be so sure, sir", said Carew, her gaze flicking from her wrist chronograph to the warship and back.

Another agonising wait followed as the _Bismarck_ completed her manoeuvre, her weapon ports slowly aligning with his field of view. This time her gunners attempted to get the jump on their counterparts on the station and fired a good deal quicker. This time the _Arcturus_ was rocked by over a dozen explosions, as a combination of missiles, autocannon shells and energy weapons struck all along both grav decks. The only consolation was that she gave as good as she got.

"Damage report!" barked Shackleton.

"Several point defence turrets destroyed, two main battery lasers destroyed and one PPC disabled. Heavy armour loss throughout Sector Two. Casualties reported on three decks. Medical teams are deploying".

"Bloody hell! I don't want us taking many more hits like that".

Unknown to them, the mayhem they'd wrought on the warship had bought them some time.

* * *

**WBS** _Bismarck,  
_**Newcastle System**

"Damage!" yelled Truscott, above the din as the bridge crew raised their voices to make themselves heard above the chaos that was apparently going on throughout the rest of the ship.

"Long range sensors and primary targeting systems down!"

"Hull breaches port side. Venting atmosphere in several sections. Cooling and environmental systems damaged. Temperature readings approaching critical in our energy weapon bays!"

"Sickbay reporting a large number of walking wounded. No serious casualties yet".

"I'll make this easy for you", Precentor Alastor said quietly in his ear, using his voice modulation implant to subtly change the tonal characteristics, allowing him to be heard easily, despite the noise.

"This station is too heavily armed for us to capture, without sustaining unacceptable casualties. Have your navigator find the nearest pirate jump point and plot a course to it at maximum speed".

Truscott stared at him with a mixture of relief and astonishment. "Where do you wish to go?"

"I suggest we make for New St Andrews. In the interim, we need to find an undefended system in which we can take refuge and repair the ship. There should be an ample number of those along our route. Once at New St Andrews we can resupply before we begin our return journey to Epsilon Eridani".

While Truscott agreed wholeheartedly with Alastor's course of action. One remaining problem nagged at him. "And how do you propose to report our…lack of success?"

Alastor stared out of the viewscreen into the far distance, "That I do not yet know. However, we have more than sufficient time to compose a report that Precentor Martial St Jamais will find acceptable".

Truscott turned away, careful to keep his expression impassive, despite his near certainty that the head of the Word of Blake's military arm would not see this mission as anything other than an unmitigated disaster. Still, Alastor appeared confident enough. Perhaps, with luck, he would get to keep his commission and his command.

"Helm, plot a course to the nearest pirate point and set jump co-ordinates for the nearest uncharted system between here and New St Andrews".

"Aye, sir!"

Truscott kept a tight hold on the grab rail as more explosions shook the massive warship. It seemed the station commander was reluctant to let them off lightly. Another volley of PPC fire lanced out from the _Bismarck's_ broadside batteries, but this one was uncoordinated and poorly aimed, causing only superficial damage, as far as he could tell. Another salvo of missiles left her launchers, but over half were destroyed mid-flight by the station's defence grid.

'_Why in Blake's name are we not altering course?'_

"Helm! What is taking so long?"

"Sir, we've lost manoeuvring! Most of our starboard thrusters are destroyed. The only way we can align ourselves towards the jump point is by turning starboard through 180 degrees".

'_Which will take us right around the station, subjecting us to several more volleys of fire'_

Once again Alastor seemed to read his thoughts. "Do you think we can survive such a manoeuvre?"

For the first time Fabien Truscott looked his superior squarely in the eye, "In all honesty I do not know. As we do not know what defences they have on Newcastle, attempting to fight our way through the system could be equally hazardous".

"It would appear our options are limited and odds of survival less than favourable".

Truscott again noted Alastor's subdued mood. If anything it was more unnerving than his normal, overbearing demeanour.

"So it would seem. However, we should still be able to duck under their weapon arcs and avoid sustaining much additional damage".

"Helm! New course Zero Zero Four. Bring us in a wide starboard turn around the station. If our pitch and yaw controls are still working, make our attitude minus 5 degrees and roll 10 degrees port. Weapons, prepare starboard batteries. I still want these heretics to feel our wrath!"

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard** _Arcturus,  
_**L2 Point,**  
**Newcastle System**

"What the hell are they playing at?" Carew wondered, staring incredulously out the viewscreen.

"Clever boy", murmured Shackleton in a half-admiring tone, as he watched the heavily damaged Blakist warship change course.

"The obvious move would have been to turn hard to port and get the hell out of here…assuming her captain isn't a raving lunatic".

"We are talking about the Word of Blake here, sir".

"Yes, but there's a difference between being a fanatic and being insane, albeit a subtle one, I'll grant you. I'm guessing we damaged her manoeuvring thrusters to the extent they can no longer turn to port. So, the only option is to go around us to reverse course. He's being smart by maintaining distance and trying to duck under our weapon arcs".

"But he's not the only one with manoeuvring thrusters", said Carew, anticipating her commander's next move.

"Indeed", Shackleton said, grinning at her.

"Make our axial rotation minus 10 degrees, that should give our gunners enough of a window".

Tilting the station's axis towards Newcastle was considered a negative manoeuvre, while tilting it towards the system's sun was positive. The _Arcturus_ was typically set to a minus 5 degree tilt, to shield its communications arrays from the solar winds, which played havoc with comm. signals.

"Aye, sir".

"Weapons crews still standing by?"

"Just waiting for a target, sir".

* * *

**WBS** _Bismarck,  
_**Newcastle System**

"Helm responding, sir".

"Starboard batteries standing by!"

"Acknowledged".

Truscott didn't turn round, but continued to stare at the viewscreen, mentally counting off the seconds, the massive space station seeming to soar above them, as the ship continued its turning descent. He felt the deck begin to tilt as she slowly rolled to present her broadside weapons, hoping to strike a crippling blow at the station's vulnerable underbelly.

Almost…almost…

He was about to give the order to fire, when something odd began to happen. Was he imagining it, or was the station's profile changing? He stared a few seconds longer. Yes, it was definitely changing, becoming noticeably shorter and more squat…almost as if it were tilting towards them

If he hadn't already been pale with fear, fatigue and nausea, the rest of the bridge crew would have noticed a distinct change in Truscott's features.

'_Blake save us!'_

* * *

**Orbital Dockyard** _Arcturus,  
_**L2 Point,**  
**Newcastle System**

"Crews are reporting weapons locked and ready, sir!"

Shackleton didn't hesitate for a second. "Fire at will!"

Sector Three's main batteries opened fire almost simultaneously, a dozen near-invisible ruby-red laser beams, accompanied by the dazzling azure discharges of half a dozen heavy naval particle cannon, raking the _Bismarck's_ starboard flank. Even from a distance it was possible to pick out small secondary explosions, as weapons, power conduits and other energised systems were destroyed. Seconds later, a huge breach appeared in her midsection as the pair of heavy naval gauss slugs struck home. A trail of frozen gas streamed from the gaping wound, along with pieces of debris, as she vented her onboard air supply.

The cheers from the bridge crew were cut short as the warship's gunners began to return fire, though it was considerably weaker and more sporadic than before.

Then the six Killer Whale anti-ship missiles struck home at intervals along her already ravaged hide, six bright fireballs blossoming as the warheads detonated. There was a collective intake of breath as the _Bismarck's_ aft section vapourised, as though from a massive internal explosion. Pillars of flame punched through the forward hull in numerous places where the armour and internal structure had been weakened.

Silence fell over the bridge as the massive fireball dissipated. From the near side of an expanding cloud of wreckage, the remains of the stern began to drift up and away, while at the far side, the forward, section, still largely intact, continued serenely on its way.

Silence gave way to animated chatter as it became apparent the station was going to pay a price for the destruction of the warship. Large chunks of wreckage, too massive for the point defences to deal with and moving too fast for the main guns to track, were streaking toward them like small asteroids.

Shackleton hit the button on his console to activate the station-wide PA system.

"This is Precentor Shackleton to all stations, brace for impact! We have wreckage heading for us at high speed and probability of further damage is high. All off-duty personnel to remain in their quarters until the All Clear is sounded".

The living quarters on _Arcturus_ were located in the central core which, in theory, was the safest place to be, surrounded by the superstructure of the dockyards, operations decks, solar arrays and meteorite shield.

"Sir, I have Demi-Precentor Cavendish on comms. It seems they're bringing in an entire Wing of Blakist fighters!"

"Tell him to escort the prisoners sun-side and hold station until further orders. No sense in them risking flying through the debris field", said Carew, intervening on her superior's behalf.

* * *

**Control Centre,**  
**Planetary Commmand Bunker,**  
**Britannia**

"Sir! Flash Priority HPG traffic from the Newcastle station!"

The comms officer had to shout to make herself heard over the celebrations that were still ongoing, following Precentor Swindelli's confirmation of the destruction of the _Righteous Fury_.

Precentor Commander Robert Jackson hustled over to the communications desk, where the incoming transmission was already being decoded and prepared for printing. When the small slip of paper finally emerged from the printer he snatched it up and rapidly scanned the lines of plain text. He forced himself to read it twice to make sure he wasn't seeing things.

"Son of a bitch! How about that?" he shouted over the noise, waving the slip in the air.

Sandringham rose from his seat at the conference table, where he'd been engaged in conversation with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Everyone else in the room took their cue from him and turned to look at Jackson. All conversation stopped abruptly.

"More good news, I take it?"

"Just received word from Precentor Everett Shackleton, commander of the Arcturus station. He confirms they engaged and destroyed a McKenna class battleship, belonging to the Word of Blake. Their aerospace unit also captured two-thirds of the warship's fighter contingent, destroying the rest".

"Blake's Blood! I'd say that's one hell of a return on our investment".

"Not to mention a big poke in the eye to all those suits who said we didn't need an armed space station", Jackson replied, a huge grin on his face.

"Then its over", said Precentor Timothy Vaughn, standing slowly. "I mean that's their entire force destroyed, isn't it? They've got nothing else to throw at us".

"That is it…we've won!" said Jackson, still grinning.

"With the Britannia Guards back on home soil, along with the Royalist Alliance's Kamchatkan Ice Devils, any remaining pockets of resistance will be cleared up in short order. Latest reports from Wellington indicate the Wobblies are still putting up a fight there, but once they find out they're on their own, with no chance of reinforcements…"

"I except their appetite for combat will disappear as quickly as their chances of victory", Sandringham finished the sentence with a smile of his own.


	70. Spreading the Word

**Birkenhead,**  
**St Helens,**  
**Britannic Coalition**  
**16th October 3068**

As expected, the Blakists had advanced on the Templars' positions and engaged them head on, confident in both their capabilities and superior numbers. For the first day, the Knights and their motley assortment of allies had shown that confidence to be misplaced. The defenders' lines had held firm and the Blakist advance had stalled. However this success had come at a price in both troops and equipment. Sheer weight of numbers is an advantage that is very hard to overcome and gradually, over the last four days, they had been pushed back towards the capital.

After the third day of relentless fighting, Colonel Di Milo had come to the realisation that valour alone was not going to be enough to carry the day. With some reluctance he had agreed to Major De Marco's suggestion, to attempt to redress the imbalance through less than honourable tactics.

On the fourth day, the Templars had led the allied forces in a dawn counterattack, aimed at sneaking past Blakist patrols and striking their encampment while most of their personnel were asleep, or at least unprepared.

It had very nearly been a complete disaster. Hasty planning had led to poor communication between the units, not helped when one of them had stumbled across one of the very patrols they'd been trying to avoid. The alarm had gone out before they were in position to attack and the allies had very nearly walked into an overwhelming ambush. The Blakists allowed them to walk into their encampment virtually unopposed, before springing the trap.

The Templars had reacted quickly, concentrating their forces to stage a breakout and punching through an attempted encirclement. Beating a hasty retreat through the surrounding villages and countryside, they ended up almost back where they started, regrouping a short distance outside Birkenhead's city limits.

The Blakists had continued the pursuit however and Di Milo had feared the worst, only to be surprised by the ingenuity and determination shown by the St Helens Territorials. The ever-resourceful Colonel Cullen and his staff, ordered the infantry to prepare an ambush of their own, using short-range artillery to lay minefields across the enemy's line of advance, stopping them in their tracks and crippling several mechs into the bargain.

While their prey attempted to pick their way through the deadly carpet of munitions, TA squads equipped with man-portable PPCs and other heavy, crew-served weapons opened fire from concealed positions, inflicting further damage, also providing targeting data for their heavy artillery, which now rained in a barrage of high explosives, decimating the leading Blakist units.

A few quick-thinking WoB pilots had gone on the offensive, using their mechs' long-range weapons to pepper the Territorials' positions, forcing the infantry to abandon their positions, while others had used their short-range weapons to clear a path through the mines, allowing them to retreat to lick their wounds.

The respite had been brief however. The small hours of this morning had seen multiple reports from Templar patrol units, warning that the Blakists were on the move once again. This time however, they had stopped within sight of the capital, with the apparent intention of laying siege to Birkenhead. An unusual change in the Blakists' tactics, they seemed prepared to wait it out and force the defenders to eventually submit, contenting themselves with intermittent volleys of fire, which had gradually laid waste to large sections of the southern half of the city.

The bunker, built deep underneath the capital was one of the few remaining safe havens in the city. Its stark ferrocrete walls and passages a constant reminder that things had to be really grim above ground for anyone to consider seeking refuge inside. The small control centre was a hive of activity and noise as its staff tried to gain a picture of the enemy's disposition and numbers and match the defenders' forces to meet them. It was also hot and humid, as the climate controls struggled to remove the heat and moisture generated by the people and equipment.

In a small side office, the atmosphere was no less oppressive, not helped by the lateness of the hour.

"You're saying they have us surrounded? We're trapped here like fish in a barrel? Do you have a plan or should we just surrender now?"

Governor Nathaniel Wrenshaw paced in an agitated state, clasping and unclasping his hands, his gaze darting round the room, never lingering in one place for long.

Colonel Benedict Di Milo, by contrast, was a picture of serenity, in spite of the hardships endured over nearly a week of combat. The brief downtime had allowed him and the Templars get some much-needed rest. A shower, a half-decent meal and a clean uniform had gone the rest of the way to restoring his aura of calm authority.

"Calm yourself, Governor. Allowing your emotions to get the better of you will not help in the slightest".

"D'yer think I'm doing this on purpose?" Wrenshaw snapped by way of response. "Not all of us are divinely protected like you!"

Di Milo forced down a sigh. The man was becoming intolerable. "We do not believe that God explicitly protects us, merely that if we conduct ourselves honourably and according to His Will, then he will look upon our endeavours favourably. That does not preclude the possibility we may have to give our lives in His service. I will thank you to note that several of our Knights have done just that in defence of your world".

"I believe the Blakists' change of tactics may have inadvertently created an opportunity for us to end this conflict, quickly and decisively", Major Elisabeth De Marco interjected quickly.

Sir Benedict was a man of remarkable patience and tolerance, but once angered, he became very difficult to work with, sudden uncontrolled outbursts of violence, often followed by long periods of repentance and meditation.

With all attention focused on her, De Marco gestured to Colonel Francis Cullen, who stepped forward from the shadows.

"Given that we've been fighting at both a tactical and numerical disadvantage, my techs have been working on a way to incapacitate or cripple a large number of their units in one blow. I believe they are very close to achieving that aim".

"Bloody marvellous! If your lads can pull this off, I personally guarantee you general's stars".

Wrenshaw was even more animated than before, but this time the light of fervent, desperate hope gleamed in his eyes.

Sir Benedict merely raised an eyebrow and looked quizzical. He had already led his forces in one ill-fated strike on the Blakists. Besides being loathe to engage in dishonourable tactics, he was also sceptical about hastily-planned, last-ditch measures.

"I assume you're all familiar with EMP weapons?" Cullen enquired.

"EMP?" queried Wrenshaw.

"Electromagnetic Pulse. If you emit a sufficiently strong electromagnetic discharge in the vicinity of operational electrical equipment, you overload and damage the components, rendering it useless", Cullen explained.

"As I said, my engineers have been putting together a device that ought to be capable of knocking out anything within a one klick radius".

He raised his gaze to meet Sir Benedict, "If one of your fighters can make a pass over the Blakist lines and drop it as close to the centre of their formation as possible, for maximum effect, it should effectively kill most of their equipment – mechs, vehicles, comms, everything".

The Knights' commander shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot and will not countenance the use of any nuclear devices, or any other weapons of mass destruction, for that matter".

Cullen smiled grimly, "Don't worry, it isn't nuclear. Besides you need to detonate those at high-altitude and we don't have anything capable of doing that. What my boys are working on is called an explosive pumped flux compression generator. It uses a small conventional explosion to compress the magnetic field produced by discharging high-power capacitors into an aluminium tube, surrounded by a high-density copper wire helix. Although the device itself is destroyed, for a split second it produces an intense EM pulse, several orders of magnitude greater than anything created by a lightning strike…or so my boffins tell me".

He raised an eyebrow at the Templar commander, "You didn't think I was crazy enough to detonate a nuke within spitting distance of my homeworld's capital, did you?"

Di Milo nodded thoughtfully, "Very well, I will instruct my pilots to stand by. While only one aircraft will be needed to drop the device, I doubt the Blakists will allow us to fly over their positions unimpeded. Sending a full flight should significantly improve our chances of success".

"Good thinking Colonel. That is the one drawback of this plan. I don't like having to wait until the Blakists make their move, but at least they won't have much time to react. Anyway, I think my lads are just about done testing the thing. I'll have them deliver it to the airfield ASAP so your guys can check it over and get it loaded up".

* * *

**Local Airfield,**  
**Birkenhead,**  
**St Helens,**  
**17th October 3068**

"Tower to Gabriel Lead, Command reports targets are on the move. Mission is a go. You are cleared for take-off, runway two".

"Acknowledged, Control. Gabriel Flight is rolling".

Minutes later, the quartet of _Lightnings_ were airborne, heading south west towards the slowly approaching Word of Blake forces. Relatively slow for medium fighters, due to their heavy autocannon armament, they cruised some way below their top speed of 630mph. Even so, the short distance meant they would be over the enemy positions in a matter of minutes.

"Gabriel Lead to Flight, follow my lead and stay low and tight. There's a good chance they'll pick us up before we're in range, even if we hug the treetops, so I want to maximise the element of surprise and give Auriel the best chance of success".

While Captain Daniel de Vito considered himself the best air combat pilot in his unit, he was quick to recognise the skills of those under his command. Andrea Auriel, callsign Gabriel Four, was his best strike pilot by a fair margin.

The other three pilots acknowledged and the four fighters descended to treetop level, until the wash from their engines blasted the uppermost branches, whenever they passed over a wooded area.

"Gabriel Two to Lead, I'm reading enemy sensor sweeps and picking up faint comms chatter. Its encrypted so I can't make anything out".

"We should have a visual anytime now. Prepare to break on my mark".

The formation swept over a line of low hills and out over a wide open plain. Although it was still dark, this early in the morning, the dim glow of running lights and the occasional piercing glare of a spotlight, marked the advance of the Word of Blake division, still some way in the distance. Everyone's sensor displays suddenly painted a host of contacts, stretched in a loose line, over a kilometre long.

Seconds later, the night was illuminated by weapons fire. First the ruby lances and azure beams of lasers and PPCs. Threat warning systems chirped, to warn their craft were being targeted by missiles.

"Hold formation!" de Vito called. His own nerves were rapidly becoming strained, doubtless the others were feeling the same way.

The good news was that the Blakists were largely aiming using their sensor data and consequently, much of the incoming fire was off-target. The range was now under a kilometre and decreasing rapidly…800…700…600…

"Break, break, break!"

De Vito pushed his stick over to the left, sending his Lightning into a hard, banking turn and in an effort to sow confusion in the Blakist ranks, unleashed a barrage of laser fire. Unsure whether he hit anything, he banked again and set himself up on another strafing run. To the east, Gabriel Two was mimicking his actions, attacking the opposite end of the Word lines, while Gabriel Three continued south, strafing their rear echelon.

In the cockpit of Gabriel Four, Knight Airman Auriel fought her pilot's instincts and throttled back as her sensors showed her approaching the centre of the formation. She switched her forward-looking camera to night vision, linking the feed to her secondary display. Although grainy and low-resolution, it showed enough detail for her to distinguish between individual units.

She adjusted her flight path to take her through the centre of the Blakist lines. Fortunately her fellow pilots were creating enough havoc in their ranks that only sporadic, poorly-aimed fire was directed her way. She spotted an area of clear ground, just behind the leading elements and locked her craft's laser targeting system on it.

"Gabriel Four to Lead, target locked. Package released now, now, now".

Her gloved right hand shifted slightly on the joystick, allowing her pinkie finger to hit the bomb release switch. As soon as a clean release was confirmed, she pushed her throttle to maximum and threw her fighter into a steep, banking climb, turning back for Birkenhead airfield. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the blue glow of afterburners, as the rest of Gabriel Flight followed suit.

"Gabriel Lead to Flight, we have 30 seconds to clear the EM pulse radius. Suggest maximum afterburner and hug the treetops".

The four aerospace fighters dived for the deck at full throttle, streaking away from the steadily advancing ranks of the Word of Blake division. Each pilot cast frequent, nervous glances at their instruments and chronographs. Although the fighters were easily fast enough to make the distance, there was always the worry the device would go off early. They needn't have worried.

A fraction under half a minute later, nearly an entire division's worth of Blakist troops were taken aback when their mechs and tanks ground to a halt, their computers, control systems and power conduits overloaded to the point of destruction by the silent, invisible blast of high-intensity electromagnetic energy. The detachment of battle-armoured infantry suddenly found themselves imprisoned in their immobilised suits. Worse, they had no way of calling for help, as their radios had also ceased to function. A pair of Level II mech units, performing scout duty, escaped the pulse, but suddenly found themselves unable to contact the rest of their unit and dangerously close to enemy lines.

* * *

**Emergency Command Bunker,**  
**Birkenhead,**  
**St Helens,**

"Sir, forward observers are reporting Operation Blackout is a success!"

The communications chief's call brought the command centre to an almost complete standstill. For a moment, no-one spoke, as if afraid to believe what they'd heard. At Cullen's insistence, squads of SHTA infantry had been shadowing the Word of Blake during their advance on the city. Keeping to high ground, they'd ignited green flares on seeing the enemy units come to a halt, which had in turn been reported by other observers, outside the range of the EMP weapon.

Predictably, the governor was the first to break the spell.

"Yes! Take that you toaster-worshipping freaks", he shouted, punching the air with delight.

The response from the military commanders was more restrained.

"Congratulations, Colonel Cullen. You plan, unorthodox though it was, appears to have been a success".

He gave a slight bow, indicating his respect, more restrained than usual by his disdain for what he considered dishonourable methods of warfare.

"Thank you gentlemen, but before we get too excited, I think we should wait until we've done our part. There is a real possibility at least some of their units escaped the pulse. I'd rather wait to break out the champagne until we've completed a full sweep of the area".

* * *

**10km South of Birkenhead,**  
**St Helens**

Colonel Benedict Di Milo brought his _Templar_ to a halt on the brow of a hill. The rest of the Knights followed suit, the three companies spread out behind the command lance across a three kilometre front. Interspersed were the surviving companies of the 1st Battalion SHTA, the tanks keeping a respectful distance from their larger allies.

He thought briefly about how to deal with the dozen contacts painted on his sensor display. The Knights' Code was very strict when it came to battlefield conduct and ordinarily he would give them the chance to surrender. However, this was not his world, nor, strictly speaking his war. He activated his radio and selected the command frequency.

"Colonel Cullen, we have a dozen enemy contacts, just under a kilometre south of our position. How do you wish to proceed?"

"Sir Benedict, ordinarily my first instinct would be to go right after them and wipe them off the face of the planet. I'm guessing you have something else in mind?"

Di Milo suppressed a sigh. "The Knights' Code compels us to give a vanquished foe the chance to surrender".

"That certainly would be the honourable thing to do. However, we do not have the facilities to hold over two hundred, highly dangerous prisoners and I'm not sure my troops would be inclined to ensure their humane treatment, regardless of any orders I gave".

Sir Benedict thought for a moment. "We are not exactly overburdened with resources either, but if you can provide a dropship, I will ensure their safe arrival at New St Andrews. From there the heads of our Order will decide their fate".

"Sounds like a plan to me".

Colonel Di Milo ordered the combined force forward once more, with his scouts given free rein to intercept the retreating Blakists. However they were under orders only to engage, if fired upon.

This proved harder than envisaged, with the Word of Blake mechs using the terrain very effectively to stay our of visual range. In the end Di Milo forced to ask Colonel Cullen to send a lance of high-speed _Regulators_, to overtake them and block their path. This almost failed too, until an intended warning shot hit one of the Blakist mechs, which began a firefight. Once the Templars caught up, it proved to be short-lived, with the Knights destroying half the Word mechs, before the Blakists finally surrendered.

A few kilometres later, the allied force reached the end of the hilly, wooded terrain and saw, tinged with orange by the early dawn sunlight, the massed ranks of the Word of Blake division, motionless, almost as though posing for a photograph. Some mechs lay on their fronts or sides, having fallen mid-step. While a few had managed to escape from their paralysed machines, most were still trapped. Cullen's engineers went to work, freeing the enemy from their high-tech prisons, while the SHTA tanks and the mechs of the Knights Templar kept overwatch.


	71. Loose Ends

**Wellington Guards Barracks,**  
**10km South of Taunton City,**  
**Wellington, **  
**Britannic Coalition,**  
**20th October 3068**

"Its been over a month now and still no sign them", said Precentor James Taplin, swirling slowly-cooling coffee around his mug, leaning against the doorway and looking out over the parade ground, allowing the fresh breeze to help wake him up.

Precentor Julian Etherington gulped down the last of his coffee and stared into his mug contemplatively.

"I still don't get it. They had us on our knees. If they'd pushed just that bit harder…"

"Lets just be thankful they didn't".

The commander of the Regent's Own Heavy Cavalry clapped the Wellington Guards' CO on the shoulder as they both turned to go back inside.

"My guess is they spread themselves too thin and decided to concentrate their forces against another target. I expect I'll be getting recall orders any time now".

"At the risk of sounding selfish, I hope not. Its going to take months to get the Guards back up to full strength, not to mention re-establishing our planetary and air defences. We don't even have a TA unit in reserve".

"Well, I won't deny you have one hell of a rebuilding job on your hands and I certainly don't envy you. On the positive side, I think this is one of those occasions where we can take no news to mean good news".

"For all we know that might just mean the HPG is on the blink again", Etherington groused.

Just then, an aide came into the office, looking slightly dishevelled. Lack of combat hadn't meant lack of work for any of them. The efforts to shore up their defences, repair, rearm and treat the wounded, had left little time for rest. Consequently everyone was suffering from fatigue that was akin to prolonged combat stress.

"Sirs, Priority Alpha message from Britannia".

He paused for a moment, as though about to reveal a guilty secret. "Its non-encrypted, clear text. I…I hope you don't mind, but I read it".

As he handed the electronic tablet over to Etherington, Julian saw that the message header bore the Omicron security code, the lowest level of clearance and that the usual verigraph signature match was not required to open the file.

Taplin saw the other man's eyebrows rise as he read and re-read the message.

"Good news?"

Etherington simply handed the tablet over, his expression unreadable. James took it and scanned the electronic document eagerly.

"In Blake's name man, you could at least look happy!" he said, punching the other man on the shoulder.

"We've done it – we've won! We've sent those bloody lunatics packing with their tails between their legs!"

Etherington finally managed a weak smile. "Lets go tell the troops, shall we?"

"After you, Colonel", Taplin replied, gesturing towards the office door. "You know, this could be the first zero-notice muster they won't complain about".

* * *

**Milton Keynes,**  
**Britannia,**  
**21st October 3068**

Benedict Padgett made a final sweep of his apartment, to check he would not be leaving any incriminating evidence behind. The previous evening he'd done the same at his former office. Paper files had been shredded and sent for incineration, electronic ones deleted and storage devices magnetically wiped or destroyed. Anyone investigating his activities would find nothing linking him to the invasion.

Or so he'd thought.

Some sixth sense made him look out of the window. Coming down the road at a sedate pace, in convoy formation, were a number of black SIS vans and cars, unmarked but unmistakeable.

Still holding the clothes he'd been in the middle of packing, he raced out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, which faced the opposite direction. Sure enough, more black agency vehicles were making their way along the northern approach to the apartment building. In a few minutes they'd have the place surrounded and cordoned off.

Padgett ran back into the bedroom and finished stuffing as many of his remaining clothes into the case, as he could fit. He grabbed his other bags, containing the few possessions he needed to start a new life under a new identity and raced out of the apartment, taking the time to lock it. If nothing else it might hold them up for a few precious minutes.

He automatically headed for the stairwell, before realising they'd probably have that covered, as well as the lifts. He changed direction, heading for the fire escape route. A long, breathless descent later, he was at the rear of the building, striding purposefully for his hovercar, trying not to look in too much of a hurry.

Just then, a squeal of tyres announced the arrival of the second SIS unit. Three cars remained parked on the road, while the fourth entered the car park. Padgett broke into a run. His car was parked just a few rows away, just a matter of seconds away, while the SIS car had to travel nearly the full length of the car park. As he got within 20 yards of his vehicle, its keyless entry system activated, allowing him to wrench open the door, throw his luggage in the back and climb into the driver's seat. He hit the button on the console to activate the hovercar's ICE engine and it whined into life, the dashboard's various displays lighting up at the same time. A panicked glance out of the side window told him the agents were nearly on him.

He felt the vehicle rise on a cushion of air as its lift fans spun up. Padgett pushed the control yoke forward and twisted it left and the machine lurched forward, hitting and scraping along the car parked next to him, he pushed the yoke further, impatient to build up speed and make his escape. As he did so, the SIS car rounded the corner onto his row. Recognising the threat, the agent driving pulled a handbrake turn, sliding his car to block the escape route. Padgett accelerated even harder and drove straight at the car's rear end, spinning it back around and jolting him violently. The tactic worked and he was through, although the hovercar's bodywork was now worse for wear.

He sped on, straight for the car park exit, where the other agents had attempted to form a blockade. When it became clear he had no intention of stopping, they opened fire. Padgett fought the urge to duck as slugs of various calibres either ricocheted off the car, or lodged themselves into the bodywork and chassis. It still did nothing to slow his momentum and the agents scattered as he tore through the exit, executing a wide, sliding turn onto the main road, narrowly missing several oncoming vehicles. He took a moment to glance up at the overhead sign, making sure he was heading out of the city towards Westminster and accelerated to the machine's top speed, intent on braking contact.

The force of SIS agents were able to keep him in sight to begin with, as he was forced to slow and weave dangerously in and out of the traffic. As he approached the city limits and traffic began to thin out, Benedict began to feel the first rays of hope. His musings on what he would do if he lived through this were cut short by a loud whirring overhead.

It got louder and louder and the hover car began to twitch and slide, disturbed by a strong downdraught. Padgett slammed on the air brakes as a VTOL with Civil Protection markings slowly came to a hover, less than a hundred yards ahead of him. As his vehicle came to a halt, a voice was clearly audible over the aircraft's PA system.

"Director Padgett, please exit your vehicle and place your hands on the roof. Failure to comply will be met with lethal force".

He glanced behind him, to see a gaggle of SIS cars had blocked his retreat. His eyes widened in shock and anger as he recognised Adept Sheridan Joyce in the rear of the lead car. Just then his communicator beeped. The screen identified the caller as Joyce. He glared at the other man before answering.

"What do you want, traitor!" he spat.

"I just thought you should know how and why your cover was blown", came the scared but defiant reply.

"Spineless heretic! You helped those who would destroy everything we have dedicated our lives to?"

"I prefer to think I saw the error of my ways. I thought you were trying to return the Coalition to the old ways, when really you were trying to tear it apart from within. Why…?"

"Fool!" Padgett spat. "Or perhaps I'm the fool for thinking you were different, that you could be trusted. But no, you're just as blind as the rest…"

"Not blind, I just believe our aims can be accomplished without war and bloodshed".

"Ha! And look where you your beliefs have got you. By the time you get out of jail, you'll be a feeble old man", Padgett scoffed.

"As a matter of fact, because of my co-operation, they reduced my sentence to a minimum of ten years, with the possibility of parole after five".

"What…?" Padgett sputtered. For a few moments he was incoherent with rage.

"As Blake is my witness you will pay for your treachery!"

Benedict shut off the communicator and sat there, his mind racing.

The Civil Protection officer's voice came over the VTOL's PA again. "Benedict Padgett, exit your vehicle and place your hands on the roof. You have thirty seconds to comply, or we will consider you a threat and open fire".

'_It will not end like this!'_

He stomped on the accelerator and the hover car lurched forward, slowly at first while its lift fans struggled to raise the car. Once the air cushion was fully formed, the vehicle raced away. To the VTOL crew's horror, Padgett kept the hover car pointed straight at the aircraft. The pilot's reflexes allowed him to pull up just in time to avoid a fiery death. With the gunner's voice clamouring in his headset, he pivoted the aircraft around to follow the speeding hover car.

Padgett barely noticed as slugs began to hit the rear of his car, as the SIS agents opened fire. He didn't even flinch as one shattered the rear window. Keeping the throttle floored, wrestling the control yoke, to control the vehicle's natural tendency to drift and skid, he kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Just a few hundred yards ahead was the road bridge, spanning the river Isis, linking Milton Keynes to Westminster. Just a few more kilometres and he could lose himself in the sprawl of the planetary capital. The sounds of gunfire faded as he sped out of range.

"Kestrel Three to Control, we have the suspect targeted. Approaching Regent's Bridge at high speed. Permission to engage and disable".

"Control to Kestrel Three, what is the probability of collateral damage?"

The VTOL's co-pilot and gunner sighed in frustration. There was enough traffic on the road, that a collision was a real possibility, if the target vehicle went out of control.

"Three to Control, estimate moderate probability of collateral".

"Acknowledged Three". A pause. "That's a negative on authorisation to engage".

"Dammit Control! I have the suspect in my sights. I can take him down right now. If we let him go, we'll lose time handing over Westminster CP and there's every chance he'll get clean away. Remember who we're dealing with here?"

He heard a muttered curse on the other end and an urgent, muted exchange that he couldn't decipher.

"Control to Three. You are cleared to engage the target. However, be advised that any collateral damage…put it this way, just make sure no-one else gets involved, otherwise you are going to be in so much sh…"

"I get the picture. Kestrel Three acknowledges. We are cleared to engage. I'll let you know how it goes…"

The gunner gestured to the pilot to get lower and closer. The 12.5mm machine gun mounted in the chin turret had a maximum range of nearly half a kilometre, but in order to minimise the risk of hitting anything else, he wanted as close and straight a shot as possible. The vehicle was almost at the bridge. There wasn't much time. The pilot throttled forward and pushed the nose down, accelerating the aircraft and bringing it down until it was almost skimming the road lights. The gunner had another idea and gestured to drift right, before executing a slow left slide.

He kept the hovercar just to the right of the luminous red gun sight on the HUD and watched as the range dropped to under a kilometre, then five hundred metres, four, three…There! A gap in the oncoming traffic and nothing close to the target. His finger tightened on the trigger. There was a faint vibration and a blizzard of orange tracer fire. He made minute adjustments, "walking" the fire across the rear of the suspect's car. In the zoomed camera view on his secondary display, he could see clearly the damage he was inflicting.

"Whoa!"

"Holy Crap!"

The gunner's finger lifted off the trigger after maybe three seconds, as the rear of the car, now a mess of mangled metal, hit the ground in a shower of sparks. The vehicle veered violently to the left, hitting the kerb and riding up onto the pavement as it reached the bridge. The powerful air cushion still being generated by the forward lift fans, bounced it off the crash barrier. It rolled in midair, hitting the pavement front end first, before flipping over the barrier and plunging over fifty feet into the deep, wide waters of the Isis.

"Oh shit".

"No kidding. Captain will probably have our asses for this", agreed the pilot ruefully, staring at the still-churning water.

There wasn't much left to do except call it in.

"Kestrel Three to Control, suspect vehicle has been…uh...neutralised".

"Copy that Three. Dispatching unit to bring suspect in".

"Uh, negative Control, I think you're going to need a dive team and a rescue sub".

"Why, what the hell happened? Oh, wait a minute, please tell me you didn't…"

"That's an affirmative. Target vehicle is in the river".

"Blake's Blood! Acknowledged Three. I'll notify the Maritime Unit – maybe they can fish the body out".


	72. Discretion and Remembrance

**Dropship** _Sussex_,  
**Dinochrome LZ,**  
**50km Southwest of Westminster,**  
**Britannia**

"Sir, Arundel, Newhaven and Gosport report ready for departure".

Commander Jennifer Saunders' report jerked Major Baker out of his reverie, as he stood at the main bridge viewport, looking out at their tranquil surroundings.

"And our status?"

"Caesar Striker lance is out on patrol, but we're still ready to go at fifteen minutes' notice".

"What are we waiting for?"

"A gap in their satellite coverage. There's one due in four hours. Of course, we don't know the extent of their capabilities, or even if they're functional, but Command doesn't want us taking any chances. The Alexander and Churchill are holding position on the far side of the moon and will time their RV to coincide".

"Couldn't we just jam their com signals with our cloud of microsats?"

"Yes, but that would arouse suspicion. We want to make our getaway nice and quiet".

"It won't be nice and quiet if any Coalition forces stumble across our location".

"That's why we have Caesar Striker on sentry duty".

Shortly after midday, the quartet of dropships lifted off and retraced their insertion flight path, hugging the coast and staying low to avoid radar detection. Their dog-leg course took them out over the ocean, before beginning a steep ascent that once more taxed the vessels to the limit of their capabilities. Breaking through the atmosphere, they split into pairs, each heading for one of the warships that hung in geosynchronous orbit.

* * *

**OCS** _Alexander_,  
**En Route to Pirate Jump Point,**  
**Britannia System**

Lieutenant-Colonel Vassily Koulikov put down the data tablet he'd been reading as the small group of officers filed into the briefing room and gestured to the seats arrayed around the table.

"Sit down and help yourselves to coffee".

He waited until everyone was seated with a drink.

"Damn fine work, ladies and gentlemen. I've been reading your after-action reports and I have to say, the co-ordination and execution of the mission plan has exceeded everyone's expectations".

He smiled at their carefully neutral expressions. "Even my own".

"Although this was one of our easier missions", he continued, "Its always good to be able to report zero fatalities and all objectives met".

"Well, sir, for my part I'd just like to pay tribute to the rest of Second Battalion. Every man and woman under my command performed as well as I've ever seen", Major Baker responded.

He nodded to the far side of the table, where Captains Alder and Thomas were sat, along with Commander Saunders. "And of course, we couldn't have done what we did without some first class support. Those guys got us in and out undetected and kept those Word battlecruisers off our backs".

Koulikov smiled again. "The commendations in your report have been duly noted".

"Sir, won't there be questions asked?" said Captain Monroe, half raising his hand. "I mean, we took out four dropships and reduced half a Blakist division to charred wreckage. The Coalition are going to work out eventually that their forces had nothing to do with it".

"Five, actually. It was five dropships", Baker interrupted quietly, shooting a sidelong glance at Monroe.

"You needn't concern yourself with that. This operation also included a contingency, should everything go to plan, for work through diplomatic channels, to ensure the Coalition government knows of our "assistance". Our intervention will, of course, never be made public knowledge, but hopefully, as intended, it will help cement relations between the Coalition and the Outer Colonies".

"Hmph. This is the part of black ops that sucks", groused Monroe. "You do all the hero work but never get any recognition for it".

"Stop whining Mike, we knew that when we signed up", grinned Baker, giving the junior officer a playful punch on the shoulder.

"Look on the bright side. The operation went entirely to plan, for once. We gave the toaster-worshippers one hell of a bloody nose and we brought everybody back home. If only all missions could go like this one".

"Amen to that", said Captain Osterbruck.

He raised his coffee mug in salute, "To victory, valour and _heimkehr_".

Seven other mugs clinked against his.

* * *

**Office of the Regent,**  
**Blenheim Palace, Westminster,**  
**Britannia  
24th October 3068**

"People of the Coalition, I stand before you today, the leader of a nation scarred by war, bowed perhaps, but unbroken. It is with the profoundest sense of relief and gratitude to the brave men and women of our armed forces, that I announce our victory over the Word of Blake.

The latest reports coming in from Wellington and St Helens confirm that the Blakist forces which landed there have been overcome and that the emergency services, along with our military are working to restore order and essential services. Here on Britannia, our heroic troops fought alongside our mercenary allies, paying a regrettably heavy price, but ultimately defeating the invaders and driving the survivors off-world.

We were able to destroy one of their remaining warships in system, before it could jump out. The other made the mistake of jumping to the Newcastle system, where it encountered the Arcturus space station. After a brief but savage battle, the Blakist vessel was destroyed.

The scars inflicted upon our nation will take time to heal and it may be some time before it feels as though we have been victorious, but let me assure you here and now, that we have won, inflicting a grievous defeat on one of the most powerful militaries in the Inner Sphere, an enemy we had long feared may return to haunt us.

I pledge to you that I will do everything within my power to help rebuild those towns and cities that were affected by the conflict, return some semblance of normality and get aid to those who have suffered and continue to suffer loss and deprivation. It has been an honour and privilege to lead this nation since its founding and I hope to repay your continued faith in me by overseeing the reconstruction and strengthening of the Coalition".

Sandringham smiled awkwardly at the polite ripple of applause from the select audience he'd asked to sit in to listen.

"Well, what do you think?"

"Very you Will", said Precentor Commander Jackson, nodding thoughtfully.

"I think it will play very well with the people, sir", agreed the Home Secretary.

"You don't think it needs tweaking?"

"Well, I think you could have played up your role a little more", said Jackson. "A lot of what you did was instrumental in ending the conflict sooner rather than later".

"Come off it Rob, I did the absolute minimum any half-decent leader would in the same situation".

"Actually sir, the Precentor Commander does make a good point", the Home Secretary cut in. "It wouldn't hurt to emphasise your leadership throughout the conflict".

"You really ought to take a leaf out of the Davions' book. They're never shy about taking credit for their victories", Jackson added.

"What I did…when you contrast it with what brilliant officers like Koivu, Toksvig, Etherington, Taplin and all the troops under their command". Sandringham trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"Sir, my staff are already preparing tributes for Precentors Koivu and Toksvig, along with a full service to honour all the fallen", Jackson said solemnly. "There will also be medal ceremonies at an appropriate date for those whose displayed particularly valorous conduct".

"Their deeds and sacrifices will be never be forgotten, sir", Secretary Smith added, "But equally, I think its important the people know your role too. If you're unwilling to mention it in your speech, we can have it released in the press in a serialised story perhaps?".

"I'm guessing you'll do it anyway, even if I object? Okay, I'll think I'll leave the speech as it is and make my scheduled appearance before Parliament tomorrow".

"Actually sir, I think it would be better to do it from the Palace. Full regalia, honour guard, the works", said the Chancellor.

"I don't know about that", said William, his expression sceptical.

"Remember your address to the people in Victoria Square at the start of this whole thing, sir? The people need a symbol of hope, of leadership. They need to know someone is in control and that things will eventually get back to normal again".

"Fine", Sandringham sighed, "The Palace it is".

Leaning back in his chair and staring out of the large windows, he took in the view that never failed to soothe and relax him. This part of Westminster had remained unscarred by the war and the park looked as beautiful as ever, with the trees dressed in their autumn brown foliage. There were fewer people out and about than normal and elsewhere, William knew, scores of citizens were trying to rebuild lives that had been shattered by the Word's invasion. It would take months, years maybe and for many things would never truly be the same again. The important thing was the healing process had begun.


	73. Epilogue

**CCS** _Spirit of the Coyote_,  
**Uncharted Star System,**  
**The Periphery**  
**28th November 3068**

"What do you mean, we are not to return home? Have we not served the Clan well enough? What more could we have done?"

Star Captain Risa Clearwater managed to keep her face impassive and her voice level, but Marcus Steele had learned to recognise the telltale signs of stress, dismay and anger. Right now, he was reading them all.

Galaxy Commander Anna Starskiy's feline feature remained impassive. She brushed a lock of golden hair, just starting to show the faintest signs of fading with age, from her face. Her large, deep blue eyes blinked slowly, betraying just a hint of sympathy. For now she remained silent.

Another officer, sat to her left. Dressed in plain fatigues, bearing only a rank insignia, her pale complexion spoke of someone who didn't get outdoors as often as regular combat personnel. Her short, raven hair and boyish features gave her a youthful look that was at odds with her intense demeanour.

"I am Star Commander Alice of the Watch. Khan Koga has been greatly impressed with the intelligence you have been sending back. Combined with data we have intercepted from the Wolves, Jade Falcons and the other occupying Clans, it points to this crusade by the Word of Blake being a critical point in the history of the Inner Sphere. If, as we anticipate, the entire Sphere becomes engulfed in conflict, it could have serious consequences for our future relations. There has already been a meeting of the Grand Council to discuss how we should respond to the Blakist threat".

She gave a derisive snort. "Of course, the occupying Clans treat it as a mere sideshow and of no concern to them. We and the other homeworld Clans feel differently. The upshot of all this is that your mission has been extended for a minimum of two years…"

"Two years!" Steele blurted involuntarily.

He was quickly silenced by a stern glance from Starskiy.

"Your cover will remain as before, that of a mercenary unit. Where the opportunity arises, you will take contracts on worlds affected by the Blakist crusade and use any contact with them to further evaluate their capabilities, methods of operation and ultimate goals".

"I thought we'd already done a pretty good job of that on Britannia", Steele said sullenly, unable to stop himself.

This time a glare from Clearwater stopped him going any further. Starskiy and Alice also frowned on hearing his use of a contraction, but said nothing.

"You will of course be provided with the latest data we have gleaned from other sources. The dropships are loaded with enough equipment to keep your unit operational for another six months. After that you will be reliant on trade and salvage until our next rendezvous. You will also be returning with a new batch of warriors. Mostly freeborns, but reliable and combat-proven nonetheless".

Alice stood, to leave. "Unless you have any questions, I must return to my duties".

Steele and Clearwater exchanged a brief glance, then shook their heads. Star Captains Alannah Jerricho and Novak Tamzarian said nothing, but continued to stare at the floor with inscrutable expressions.

After the Watch officer had left, Starskiy slowly got up from her desk, walked round to the front and perched on the edge, clasping her hands over one knee.

"I realise you were all expecting to return to the homeworlds, but this so-called Jihad the Word of Blake has embarked on, will likely have profound implications for the future of the Inner Sphere. We need to know what the Successor States are facing and their chances of emerging victorious".

She stood up again and walked over to the small porthole in the outer wall of the cabin and stared out into space as she composed her next words. The _Solar Blaze_, a heavily modified Carrack class transport, used by the Cavaliers, hung in the blackness, several kilometres away. Shuttlecraft, ferrying personnel and equipment to and from the massive warships, appeared as grey flecks against the starry backdrop.

"Forgive the directness of the question, Galaxy Commander, but why do we even care what fate befalls the Spheroids?" asked Star Captain Alannah Jerricho.

Starskiy turned slowly, a wry smile on her face. "I expected such a question from you, even though I am quite sure you are aware of the significance, should these zealots succeed in their mission to bring the Sphere under their dominion. The Clans, Wardens and Crusaders alike have invested too much in our own bid to rebuild the Star League, to see our efforts come to naught. The occupying Clans are too preoccupied with their own territorial squabbles to pay much heed to the Blakist threat, but they will be forced to, sooner or later. When that time comes, Khan Koga wants us to be ready with a viable course of action. It is time the Coyotes regained their prominence among the Clans and this will be a major step towards that goal".

The Galaxy Commander looked each of them in the eye, a proud, fierce smile lighting up her features.

"You have been chosen to be the instruments of that policy. You will be the Coyote's eyes, ears and claws. You will track our prey and engage them in battle. Learn their strengths and weaknesses, their tactics and technology, so that when the time comes, we may deal them a fatal blow".

The four officers looked at each other with mixed emotions, downcast at the thought of life as mercenary money-warriors for another two years, but also buoyed at the idea their mission was now being scrutinised at the top level of command.

"There is one other matter that needs to be addressed, in light of the noble and courageous death of Star Colonel Nuyriev, the Cavaliers need a new commanding officer. Although Star Captain Clearwater has been the _de facto_ commanding officer for some time now, her appointment has not been formalised and if anyone wishes to challenge her position they are entitled to do so. Unfortunately, we will not be staying long enough to conduct a formal Trial of Position. However, given your lengthy service together, I am confident the four of you will be able to arrange a suitable succession".

The quartet exchanged incredulous glances. Although not unheard of, it was very rare for Clan customs to be modified or even dispensed with altogether. However, these were exceptional circumstances and if a senior officer could not be present to officiate at a Trial, they would simply have to improvise.

"Now, I am sure you all have much to do to prepare for your return. I will have your formal orders ready and dispatched before your departure. May the spirit of Kerensky watch over you all".

They took that as their cue to leave.

The next several hours were a frenetic exercise in administration and logistics, each of the four making sure the new equipment the needed was loaded onto the correct dropships, tracking down and meeting the new warriors who would be serving with them, ensuring they'd done the seemingly endless requisite paperwork to ensure they wouldn't be reprimanded for misappropriation of equipment or personnel at the next debrief.

It wasn't until much later that day that they were able to meet up in the now relatively quiet mess room. The evening meal had been served almost two hours ago and now the only people present besides themselves were a few off-duty crew who, like them, were taking the chance for some R&R.

"So, what do you make of our new orders?", Steele asked, staring contemplatively into the bottom of his glass, swirling the remains of his Fusionnaire.

"If it weren't for the fact our Khan is taking a direct interest in our mission, I would happily fight a Trial of Refusal to get our orders re-written", growled Jerricho, chewing moodily on a toothpick, her irritation causing a rare lapse into Spheroid speech.

"Does anyone have any ideas how we should decide who is to succeed Star Colonel Nuyriev?" asked Tamzarian.

Marcus shot a glance at Clearwater and thought he detected a flash of pain in her eyes. Although almost fully recovered from her physical injuries, it seemed Risa was still struggling to deal with her emotional scars. She took another gulp of the clear brown spirit she'd ordered.

"I propose we follow the usual custom of a Trial of Position".

"Without a senior officer to oversee the Trial, won't that be a little difficult?" said Steele, who for his part was struggling to readjust after becoming used to Spheroid speech.

"I was considering asking one of the Coalition commanders, or perhaps our mercenary liaison to fulfil that duty".

"Are you serious? That would destroy our cover".

"Not necessarily. They do not have to know exactly what it is they are presiding over. We can say it is some sort of training exercise or unit competition".

"I do not like the idea of allowing the Spheroids to become overly familiar with us and our customs. The more they see and learn, the greater the chance of our true nature and purpose being revealed", said Tamzarian.

"If you have any better ideas, I am open to them", sighed Clearwater wearily.

"We could simply have a vote", suggested Marcus.

The others gave him looks ranging from puzzlement to outright disdain.

"Since when did we become a democracy?" snorted Jerricho.

"Will you excuse us?" Steele said to Clearwater, gesturing for the others to follow him a short distance away.

"Ordinarily I would be as keen as any of you to prove myself worthy of advancement to Star Colonel, but our situation is, as you have noted, decidedly extraordinary. As I see it there is only one realistic candidate for command".

He gave a subtle nod in the direction of Risa, who continued to nurse her drink, oblivious to their conversation.

"And why should that be?" Alannah hissed.

"I am so glad you asked. Let us consider your good self first. As fine a warrior as I have ever seen and a great leader on the battlefield. However, your temper has got you into trouble on numerous occasions and almost resulted in our cover being blown. Your natural aggression tends to make you more prone to taking risks – again not a good thing in our situation".

Marcus turned to Tamzarian next. "Novak, like Alannah, you are an exceptional warrior and unlike her, you are much more even tempered and considerate. However, your weakness I would say lies in your strategic thinking and long-term planning. Would you agree?"

Novak frowned but then shrugged. "A fair assessment I have to concede".

"And what about you", Alannah queried. "Why do you not put yourself forward?"

Steele gave a self-effacing grin. "I think you know my problem well enough. Diplomacy is not one of my strong points and I am terrible at keeping secrets…especially after a few of these", he said, brandishing his now-empty Fusionnaire glass.

"Out of all of us, who can you honestly say has all the qualities to give us the best chance of successfully completing our mission and who has already proven themselves by keeping the unit intact and functioning since Star Colonel Nuyriev's death?"

"Your logic is sound", Jerricho muttered grudgingly after a few moments' silence.

Tamzarian nodded agreement.

"So it is settled".

"Seyla".

"Well bargained and done", said Jerricho in a rare display of humour, which produced a bout of stifled laughter.

"I miss being able to use those words in their proper context", said Tamzarian wistfully.

"As do we all", Steele replied with heartfelt sincerity.

"What are you _surats_ sniggering about?" Clearwater called over her shoulder.

The trio resumed their seats at the bar to tell her.

* * *

**CCS** _Solar Blaze_,  
**Uncharted Star System,**  
**The Periphery**  
**29th November 3068**

The pilot guided the shuttle underneath the belly of the massive warship, up through the open bay doors and into an empty berth. Once the doors had sealed shut and atmospheric pressure was restored, the officers of the Coyote Cavaliers began to disembark.

Jerricho and Tamzarian were first to leave, engaged in an intense discussion about something or other, soon becoming lost in a hive of activity as the warship's crew made final preparations for the first of a series of hyperspace jumps back to Coalition space. Steele watched Clearwater as she stepped uncertainly down the shuttle's exit ramp, timing his own walk so he reached the bottom at the same time.

"Something troubling you?" he asked, resting a hand lightly on her shoulder.

She turned slowly to face him and he was struck by how much older and more tired she seemed.

"I was so ready to return to the homeworlds, Marcus. I believed we had served the Clan sufficiently well and regained enough honour to allow us to drop this charade and start being who we truly are once again".

She gazed up at him sadly and Marcus was oddly affected by the way her deep green eyes connected with his. "Now we are to be exiled once more, for Kerensky knows how long. The Inner Sphere seems as though it is ready to tear itself to pieces once more and instead of being part of the effort to save them, we will continue to play at being money-warriors, serving whoever will pay the most, regardless of the cause".

Steele realised the stress and emotional turmoil Risa had been suffering, had taken more of a toll than he realised and he began to regret coercing her into continuing her role as commander. They continued to walk and Marcus guided them towards a relatively quiet area of the shuttle bay.

"But we will be part of the effort to save the Spheroids from their own idiocy", he said taking her hands in his and gently squeezing them.

"Don't you remember Galaxy Commander Starskiy's words? We will be the Coyote's eyes, ears and claws, when need be. We shall continue to learn about the Spheroids, their strengths, weaknesses and traits, as we have done for the past ten years. Only this time, instead of preparing our Clan for a resumption of the crusade for Terra, we will be helping prepare all the Clans to repel these Word of Blake zealots".

"I suppose you are correct".

She gazed across the shuttle bay wistfully. "I would like to see Tamaron one more time".

"You will. We all will. When this mission is over, we will all return there. I will even arrange a picnic in Kufahl Park, if you wish".

"That would be nice", Risa said, smiling faintly at the memory of her last time there.

"Then its settled. On our return, we'll spend a day communing with Nature. I'm sure Alannah will grumble, but as long as she has somewhere to practice her martial arts, I'm sure I can persuade her to join us. Until then, you will have the fun of keeping us all in check".

He reached out and gently touched her chin with his fist. "So stop being such a silly young cub and start acting like our new Star Colonel".

Risa responded with a near full-blooded punch to his shoulder.

"I'll give you silly young cub, you insolent _surat_!" she said, grinning broadly now.

"Ow!"

Marcus rubbed his shoulder ruefully, but returned her smile, happy that she was showing some of the fire and spirit that had been missing since Nuyriev's death.

They continued to walk, heading for the corridor that led to the passengers' quarters. Marcus gave a slight start, surprised as he felt Risa's hand slip into his.

"Actually, I think I would prefer it if just the two of us went to Kufahl Park", she said.

The pair continued their walk, just enjoying each other's company and putting all thoughts of war to one side for now.

***** THE END ***  
**


End file.
